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Expectations, 



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Great Expectations. 



DRAMA II FIVE ACTS. 



Dramatized from Dicken's popular work of the same name, 



-A.. SCOTT. 



NEWARK, N. J. 



K 1877- 

Entered according to Act oi Congress, in the year 1877, by Charles 

A. Scott, in the office of the Librarian ol Congress at 

WASHINGTON, D C. 



N. J. 80LD1ERS HOME, l'RINT. 



t rfe ,°, 



C.A-- 



CHARACTEES. 



Philip Pirrip, better known as Pip 

Joe Gargery, an honest blacksmith 

Uncle Pumblechook, in the corn and seed trade . . . 
Magwitch, christen' d Abel, a convict and warmint. 

Compeyson, the other convict 

Mr Jaggers 

Herbert Pocket, Pip's friend 

Old Orlick, a slouching blacksmith 

Mr. Wopsle, an amateur elocutionist 

Mr. Hubble, a wheelwright 

Mr. Raymond Camilla 

William Potkins, waiter at the Blue Boar 

Officer 

Sergeant Buzzem, in the service of His Majesty. . . 
Soldiers, " " . " " " 

Pip Gargery 

Miss Havisham, a blighted maiden 

Estella. No Heart 

Biddy. Good heart 

Mrs, Raymond Camilla, all heart and affection. . . . 

Mrs. Joe Gargery, often on the Rampage 

Miss Sarah Pocket, a shrewish "maiden 

Mrs. Hubble, a juvenile elderly lady 



NOTE. — This edition is printed for circulation among personal friends 

and for the convenience of rehearsal, with the view of making 

such alterations as may seem judicious to the proprietor. 



COSTUMES. 



Pip. First dress. Tight fitting linsey-woolsey waist 
coat with short sleeves, and only one button. Tight 
vest and short legged pants of same material. White 
cotton shirt with collar. , Blue or grey wool stock- 
ings, high-lows. Boy's cap. Second dress ; modern. 

Joe Gargery. Red- flannel shirt. Corduroy trousers, 
brown or grey vest Flaxen curls, full grown beard 
around the face and under the chin ; chin smooth. 
Second dress. An ill fitting black cloth body coat. 
Vest and trousers of same material, the latter turned 
up at bottom. White bosomed shirt, standing col- 
lar, black neckerchief. High crowned hat. White 
wig in last act. 

Pumblechook. Ill-fitting old fashioned black body-coat, 
vest and pants. Black silk stock, standing collar, 
old fashioned black hat, shoes and shoe buckles. 
Sandy wig, hair standing upright. Grey wig in 
last act. 

Magwitch. Coarse grey convict suit, muddy and torn ; 
broken shoes. An old rag tied around his head. 
Iron fetter around his leg. Second dress : Rough 
outer coat, Pea-jacket, dark blue trousers, black 
neckerchief, blue woolen shirt. Iron gray wig, bald 
head. Full grown beard, smooth chin. Slouch hat. 
Third dress : Farmer's suit. 

Compeyson. Same as first dress of Magwitch. 

Jaggers. Drab Box Coat. Dark vest and pants. Black 
silk hat, low bell crowned, with wide rim. Side 
whiskers, standing collar, black neck tie. 

Herbert. Modern. 

Or lick. Colored shirt, long waistcoat, coarse shoes, 
wool trousers, leather apron. Red shock wig, full 
beard. 

Mr. Wopsle. Brown clerical cut coat. Buttoned up 
vest. White choker and standing collar. Mutton 
chop whiskers ; Iron grey wig ; bald head. 

Mr. Hubble. Grey sack or square cut coat, long vest 
and trousers ; standing collar and neckerchief. Grey 
jvjg_ == jyiin hair. No beard. 



Mr. Camilla. Black dress coat and pants, fancy vest. 

Colored neck-tie or cravat ; standing collar. Black 

curly hair and side whiskers. 
William. White jacket and apron. 
Officer. Dark steel plain clothes. 
Sergt. and Soldiers Red military coats, faced with 

white braid and brass buttons, black pants with red 

cord on the seam. Shako and pompom, pipe clayed 

belts. Cartridge boxes and bayonet scabbards. Bed 

sash over right shoulder, sword and white chevrons 

on sleeves to distinguish the sergeant. 
Miss H. Bridal dress, faded satin and lace. — Period 

1830. — Veil, flowers, jewels, &c. 
Estella. Girls Home dress. Second dress ; handsome 

house dress. Third dress ; widow's dress. 
Biddy. Dark dress, linen collar and cuffs, white apron. 

Second dress ; merino dress and cap. 
Mrs. Camilla. Walking dress, bonnet and shawl. 
Mrs. Joe. Dark calico dress, coarse apron with square 

bib, stuck full of pins ; bonnet aud shawl. 
Sarah. Plain walking dress, bonnet and shawl. Secon i 

dress ; plain house dress. 
Mrs. Hubble. Blue silk dress, bonnet and shawi 



PROPERTIES. 






act i. 

SCENE I.— Poker for Gargery, Jack-towel on the door. 
Plain table e. 4 wooden chairs. Dutch clock. Pot 
on coal fire. Work basket tod piece of calico on 
table for Mrs. Joe. Tickler [Kattan] for Mrs. Joe to 
enter with. Tin pans on walls. Buffet with bread, 
-butter, cheese. Jar of mincemeat. Brandy in stone 
bottle. Tar water in glass bottle or jug. E'liptv 
bottle, meat-bone and pork^pie, all in sight of audi- 
ence. Colored handkerchief for Pip to re-enter with. 
File at door in fl t for Pip. 

J5CENE II. — No properties except whaft Pip enters with. 

SCENE III.— Dinner table *&. c. set for seven. 2 side 
tables, 8 chairs, 1 settee, old fashioned clock and 4 
small white crockery poodles, each with a black nose 
and basket of flowers in mouth, on mantle-shelf. Plain 
curtain up at window in flat. A few framed prints 
on walls. Leg of pickled pork and greens, pair of 
roast chickens* mashed potatoes, bowl of gravy on 
dinner table. Mince pie, boiled pudding, nuts, app- 
les, dishes, platted, tumblers; wine glasses, tea spoons, 
pitcher of beer, gin bottles, stone bottle with brandy, 
on side tables: 2 bottled of win^ for Pumblechook 
to enter with. P i air of faahdfcuffs ibr Sergeant to en- 
ter with. Fetter on CompdySdii's leg. Muskets for 
guard. 

SCEiNE I.— Covered table witir Indies? dressing case and 
glass b. 2. e. Candelabra; wrt& lighted: eddies on 
table and on mantelpiece. Clock on matftet with 
hand at twenty minutes' to riin&v Long table at en- 
trance to inner chamber. An epergne and bride-cake 
centre of long table covered with cobwebs. Arm 
chair, watch, chain, lace, jewels, flowers, gloves, 
handkerchief, prayer-book confusedly heaped about 
mirror on table. Furniture of faded and decayed ap- 
pearance. Clutched stick for Miss Havkham. 
Lighted candle for Estella to enter with. Smelling 
bottle for Mrs. Camilla to enter with. Pack of pla^ - 
ing cards on mantel for Estella and Pip. 



SCENE II— Table and 2 chairs. Purse filled with coin 

for Joe to enter with. 
SCENE III — Same as scene I, act 1. 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Table and 2 chairs r. c. Lighted candle on 
. table. Pocket-memo book and purse with coins for 
Jiggers to enter with. 
SCENE j II,— Same as scene I, act 2. Stool for Estella. 

Lighted candle, for Sarah Pocket to enter with. 

SCENE III.— Table and 3 chairs l. c. Tray, plate, knife, 

fork, spoon, sugar-bowl, cup and saucer, decanter 

; and two 'glasses, cold beef, bread, lighted candle and 

writing materials on table. Sofa l. Bank notes for 

Pip to enter with. Short black clay pipe, small greasy 

^.^ book, jack-knife and pocket-book filled with bank 

..;. notes for Magwitch to enter with. Note for Herbert 

[to enter with. 

ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— No additional properties. 

SCENE II. — A deal table and wooden bench r. Truckle 

bedstead and mattrass l. Lighted candle ob table. 

Ladder secured to a wing, representing a loft l. Rope 

with noose, and tin bottle for Orlick. Stone hammer 

near door in flat. 
SCENE III.— Tablets for Miss Havisham. 
SQENE IV.— Table and chairs l. Settee r Pocket-book 
:i ; and notes for Magwitch. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Table with cover laid and 2 chairs r. c. Tray 
with tea things, bread and butter for William to 
enter with. Muffin and salt for William to re-enter 
with. 

SCENE II. — Slate and pencil for young Gargery. 



"GKEAT EXPECTATIONS.'' 



ACT 1. 

SCENE I. — Kitchen in 3 o. backed by fchop & Forge. — Gargery dis- 
covered seated at fire with poker in his hand. —a. v. e. Enter 
Pip cautiiusly, door infiot, gees to fire place. 

Joe. Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking 
for you Pip, and she's out now, making it a baker's 
dozen. 

Pip. Is she ? 

-Joe. Yes, Pip, and what's worse, she's got Tickler 
with her. (Pip twists the only button on his coat and 
looks in great depression at the fire.) She sot down, and 
she got up, and she made a grab at Tickler, and she Pam- 
paged Tout — [poking fire and looking at it.) — She Pam- 
paged out, Pip. 

Pip. Has she been gone long, Joe ? 

Joe Well, (glances at clock,) she's been on the Pant- 
page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She's a 
coming. Get behind the door old chap, and have the jack 
towel betwixt you. (Pip gets behind door. ) 

Enter Mrs. Joe Gargery, door in flat. 

( Throws door open and finding obstruction behind it, 
applies Tickler to its investigation, and concludes by 
throwing him over to Joe, who fences Pip in the corner 
with his leg. ) ■ • -. 

31rs. Jo*. Where have you been, you young monkey ? 
{stamping foot) , tell me directly what you've been doing 
to wear me away with fret and fright and worrit, or I'd 
have you out of that corner if you was fifty Pips, and he 
was five-hundred Gargery s. 

Pip. I have only been to the churchyard (crying and 
rubbing himself. ) 



Mrs. J Churchyard ! If it warn't for me you'd have 
been to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there Who 
brought you up by hand ? 
Pip. You did. 

Mrs. J And why did I do it, I should like to know. 
Pip. (Whimpers.) I don't know. 
Mrs J. I don't ! I'd never do it again. I know 
that. J may truly say I've never had this apron of mine 
otf, since born you were. Its bad enough to be a black- 
smith, wife — and him a Gargery — without being your 
mother. Hah ! (hangs Tickler up) churchyard, indeed ! 
You may well say churchyard, you two. You'll drive 
me to the churchyard betwixt you, one of these days, and 
oh, a pr-r-recious pair you'd be without me. (Sets tea 
thing*, cuts dice of bread, thinly butters it, and devides 
it between Joe and Pip. Pip conceals his bread, and 
Joe misses it and believes he has bolted it.) 

Joe I say you know! Pip, old chap! You'll do 
yourself a mischief. It Ml stick somewhere. You can't 
have chawed it, Pip. 

Mrs. Joe. What's the matter now ? 
Jo . If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip I'd re- 
commend you to do it, (aghast) Manners is manners, 
but still your elth's your elth 

Mrs Joe. ( Takes Joe by the whiskers and knocks his 
head against the wall.) Now, perhaps, you'll mention 
what s the matter — you staring great stuck pig. 

f?fj u Y °u U , kll0W ' Pip ' you and me is always friends, 
and 1 d be the last to tell upon you, at any time, but such 
a (77V, ves his chair, looks about the floor, and then again 
at Pip. ) such a most uncommon bolt as that ! 

Mrs. Joe. Been bolting his food, has he ? 

Joe. You know, old chap, I bolted myself, when I 
was your age — frequent — and as a boy, I've been 
among a many bolte-s ; but I never see your bolting equal 
yet, I ip, and it's a mercy you ain't bolted dead. 

Mr*, Joe (Makes a dive at, and brings him out bu 
the hair.) You come along and be dosed with this tar 
water. {Holds his head under far arm and makes him 
t >kt tar water. Pip is obliged to keep one hand in his 
trousers-pocket to keep the bread from falling; also d >ses 
Joe. J ip is stirring pudding in the pot when sound of 
<iun is heard oft. l. v. e. 

Pip. Hark, was that great guns, Joe ? 

Jot. Ah ! There's another conwict off. 



Pip. What does that mean, Joe ? 

Mrs. Joe. (snappishly at needlework) Escaped, es- 
caped. 

Joe. There was a couwict off last night, after sun-set 
gun, and they fired warning of him ; and now it appears 
they're firing warning of another. 

Pip. Who's firing ? 

Mrs. Joe. Brat that boy, what a questioner he is. Ask 
no questions, and you'll be told no lies. 

Pip. Mrs Joe, 1 should like to know — if you 
wouldn't much mind — where the firing comes from ? 

Mrs. Joe. Lord bless the boy ! From the Hulks. 

Pip. Oh-h (looks at Joe) Hulks, and please what's 
Hulks? 

Mrs. Joe. That's the way with this boy ! Answer him 
o.:e question, and hell ask you a dozen directly. Hulks 
are prison ships, right cross the meshes. 

Pip. I wonder who's put into prison ships, and why 
they're put there ? 

Mrs Joe. (rising) I tell you what young fellow, I didn't 
bring you up by hand to badger people s lives out. It 
would be blame to me, and not praise, if I had. People 
are put in the hulks because they murder, and because 
they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad ; and they al- 
ways begin by asking questions. Now you get along to 
bed! [Exit Pip l: 2. e.] Now come along you 
booby, and dont stare that fire out of countenance. 
[_h,xit r. 2. e., Joe slowly following .] 

\_ he-enter Pip l. 2. e cautiously, goes to buffet, takes 
bread out of trousers, cheese, jar of mincemeat, and ties 
them up in handkerchief takes brandy from stone bottle 
and pours into glass bottle, then dilutes stone bottle with 
the tar-vmter, takes a meatbone and pork pie, goes out 
door in flat and returns with a file, gathers all up and 
exits hastily, l. 2. entj] 

Scene 2. Act 1. 1st G. 

The Marshes. Horizon at mouth of a river with Hulk in distance 
on l. flat. Marsh countiy and liver on s. flat, with a gibbet in 
foreground. 

.\iagwitch enters l, limps to and tro, hugging himself. Enter Pip 
r. hastily — hands him file, which he lays down and watches Pip 
c pining the buudle, and emptying his pockets. Commences to eat 
voraciously while shaking with cold. 

Mag. What's in this bottle, boy ? 



Pip. Brandy. \Mag. drinks and shivers'] I think you 
have got the ague. 

Mag. I'm much of your opinion, boy. 

Pip. It's bad about here. You've been lying out on 
the meshes, and they are dreadful aguish. Rheumatic too. 

Mag. I'll eat my breakfast afore they're the death of 
me. I'd do that, if I was going to be strung up to that 
there gallows as there is over there, directly afterward. 
I'll beat the shivers so far, I'll bet you. \_Ea,ting, stops. 
listens.] You 're not a deceiving imp ? You brought 
no one with you 1 

Pi]). No, sir! No. 

Mag. Nor giv' no one the office to follow you ? 

Pip. No. 

Mag. Well, I believe you. You'd be but a fierce young 
hormd indeed, if at your time of life you could help to 
hunt a wretchid warmint, hunted as near death and dung- 
hill as this poor wretched warmint, is. {Eats pie.) 

Pip. I'm glad you enjoy it. 

Mag, Did you speak ? 

Pip. I said I was glad you enjoyed it. 

Mag. Thanker, my boy. I do. 

Pip. I am afraid yon wont leave any of it for him. 
There's no more to be got where that came from. 

Mag. Leave any for him ? Who's him ? 

Pip. The young man, that you sj3oke of. That was 
hid with you. 

Mag. Oh, ah ! Him 1 Yes, Yes ! He dont want no 
wittles. 

Pip. I thought he looked as if he did. 

Mag. Looked? When? 

Pip. Just now. 

Mag. Where ! 

Pip. Yonder {pointing r.) over there where I found 
him nodding asleep, and thought it was you. {Mag. seizes 
hold of his collar — stares at him) Dressed like you, 
you know, only with a hat, and — and — and with — 
the same reason for wanting to borrow a file. Didn't you 
hear the cannon last night ? 

Mag. Then there mas firing ! ( To himself.) 

J } ij>. I wonder you shouldn't have been sure of that 
i r we heard it up at home, and that's farther away, and 
we \\< re .< hut in besides. 

Mag. Why, sec now ! When a man 's alone on these 
Bets, with a light head and a light stomach, perishing of 



cold and want, he hears nothing all night, but grins firing, 
and voices calling Hears? He sees the soldiers, with 
their red coats lighted up by the torches carried afore, 
closing in around him. Hears his number called, hears 
himself challenged, hears the rattle of the muskets, hears 
the orders, Make ready ! Present ! Cover him steady, 
men ! and is laid hands on — and there's nothing ! Why, 
if I see one pursuing party last night — coming up in 
crcier, damn 'em, with their tramp, tramp — I see a hund- 
red ; And as to firing ! "Why, I see the mist shake with the 
cannon, arter it was broad day. But this man, did you 
notice anything in him *? 

Pip. He had a badly bruised face. 

Mag. Not here ? {striking his face mercilessly.) 

Pi]?. Yes there. 

Mag. Where is he? {crams ?c hat food is left into 
breast of his jacket) Show me the way he went. I'll 
pull him down, like a bloodhound. Curse this iron on 
my sore leg ; give us hold of the fie, boy. 

Pip. I would help you but I must go, or they will 
miss me and the pie. {Exit e.) 

Mag. Go boy, go, ill find him, and drag him back to 
tlie huiks, if I die for it. {Exit r. ) 

Scene 3. Act 1. 3rd or 4. G. 

The Parlor in Gargerys house, backed by Kitchen 
flat. Mrs. Joe. l. door in flat, bringing in the dinner. 
Enter Pip & Joe in his Sunday clothes, l. 

Mrs. Joe. And where the duce have you been. 

Pip. I've been down to hear the carols. 

Mrs Joe. Ah ! well ! you might ha done worse, ^ Per- 
haps if I warn't a blacksmith's wife and — what's the 
same thing — a slave, with her apron never off, I should 
have been to hear the carols. I'm rather partial to carols, 
myself, and that's the best of reasons for my never hear- 
ing any. {Knock l.) Go open the door and don't make 
believe you are not use to it. {Pip goes to l. door.) 

Enter Mr. Wopsle t Mr. and Mrs. Hubble and Uncle 
Pumblechook. Joe and Mrs. Joe advance to receive 
them. 

Mrs. Joe. Ah, good Mr. Wopsle, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Hubble, we are so glad to see you, and you dear Uncle 

_J>„^UWh^V T woe snrfi vou would come. 



6 

U ' lde ^' Mrs ' Joe iv e brought you as the compli- 
ments of the season — I have brought vou, mum, a bottle 
01 siierry wine — and I have brought you, mum, a bottle 
oi port wme. 

Mrs. Joe. Oh, Un— cle Pum— ble— ehook ! This is 

ililld. 

Uncle P It's no more than your merits, and now are 
you all bobbish? And hows sixpennorth of halfpence ? 

**** Joe. Pray be seated all, the dinner is all ready. 
( All take seats at the table as Mrs. Joe directs. \ 

Wopsle. For this thy bounty make us traiy grateful. 

nTi J' i T ° ^? } ?° you hear that '■ Be fateful. 
Uncle P. Especially, be grateful boy, to them which 

brougnt you up by hand. 
Joe. Gravy, Pip. 

gr^mf ume ' Wny is {t that the young are never 

Mr. If. laterally wicious. 

All, True, true. 

Joe. More gravy, Pip. 

Wopsle. The sermon to day, was not what it ought to 
have been, the subject of the day's homily was not well 
ciiosen, wmch was the less excusable, when there are so 
many subjects going about. 

Uncle P. True again. You've hit it sir ! Plentv of 
subjects going about, for them that know how to put salt 
upon their tails. That's what's wanted. A man needn't 

go far to find a subject, if he's ready with his salt box 

Look at pork alone. There's a subject ! If you want a 
subject, look at pork! 

Wopsle True, sir. Many a moral for the youn^, 
might be deduced from that text. J °' 

Mi*. Joe. (to Pip) You listen to this. 
Jot. More gravy, Pip. 

Wopsle. Swine, (pointing his fork at Pip) swine 
were the companions of the prodigal. The gmttony of 
swme is put before us, as an example to the youW What 
is detestable in a pig, is more detestable in a boy 

Mr. II. Or girl. J 

pre ^T fo - ° f conrse ' °* gH but there is no girl 

'['"': P Besides, {turns to Pip) think what you've 
',,. b °jp*te£] for. If you'd been'born a s^ake* 
■J'*- J ;» : He was^U ever a child was. 



ZFiicle P. Well, but I mean a four-footed squeaker. 
If you had been born such, would you have been here 
now 2 Not you- 

Wopsle. Unless in that form. 

Uncle f. But 1 don't mean in that form, sir. I mean 
enjoying himself with his elders and betters, and improv- 
ing himself with their conversation, and rolling in the 
lap of luxury. Would he have been doing that t No, he 
wouldn't. And what would have been you- destination ? 
You would have been disposed of for so many shillings 
according to the market price of the article, and Dunstable 
the butcher would have come up to you as you lay in 
your straw, and he would have whipped you under his 
left arm, and with his right he would have tucked up his 
frock to get a penknife from out of his waistcoat-pocket, 
and he would have she'd your blood and had your life. 
No bringing up by hand then. Not a bit of it ! 

joe. More gravy, Pip. 

Mrs H lie was a world of trouble to you, ma am. 

Mrs. Jot. Trouble ? Trouble ? I should say, he was 
a world of trouble, but, if this boy ain't grateful this day, 
he never will be. It's only to be hoped, that he won't be 
pompeyed. . 

Uncle P. She ain't in that line, mum. She knows 

better. . 

Joe. Which some individual, mentioned — she. 

Mrs. Joe And she is a she, I suppose ? Unless you 
call Miss Havisham a he. 

Joe. Miss Havisham up town. 

Mrs J. Is there any Miss Havisham down town I 
She wants this boy to go and play there, and of course 
he's going. 

Joe. 1 wonder how she came to know .Tip r 

Mrs. J. Who said she knew him ? 

Joe. Which some individuel mentioned that she 
wanted him to go and play there. 

Mrs Joe- And couldn't she ask Uncle Pumblechook 
when he went there to pay his rent, if he knew of a boy to 
go and play there ? And couldn't Uncle Pumblechook, 
— being always considerate and thoughtful for us, — 
though you may not think it Joseph, then mention this 
boy here, I have forever been a willing slave to I 

TTmI* P. Good again ! Well put ! Prettily pointed ! 



8 

Mrs. Joe. No, Joseph, you do not yet — though you 
may not think it — know the case. You may consider 
that you do but you do not, Joseph, For you do not 
know that Uncle Pumblechook, being sensible that for 
anything we can tell, this boy's fortune may be made by 
his going to Miss Havisham, has offered to take him into 
town to night in his own chaise-cart, and to keep him to 
night, and to take him with his own hands to Miss Havis- 
ham s to morrow morning. Have a little brandv, Uncle 
{Mrs. Joe gets the stone bottle, pjours out the brandy, and 
then with Joe's assistance commences to clear the table for 
tnepw and pudding. Pumblechook trifles with his glass 
takes it up, looks at it through the light, smiles, throws his 
head back and gulps it down; throws company into con- 
sternation by springing to his feet turning round in a 
spasmodic whooping-cough dance, violently expectorating 
and making the most hideous faces until Joe and Mrs 
Joe lead him. back to his chair, into ichich he sinks and 
gasps — 

Uncle P. Tar ! Tar ! 

Mrs J. Tar ! Why, how ever could Tor come here ? 

Uncle P. Let me not hear the word again. 1 abomi- 
nate lar. Give me some gin and water. (Mrs Joe 
waits on him. All seated as before.) 

3 u rS ' /', Y ° U must taste ' y° u must taste t0 ni "sh with, 
such a delightful and delicious present of Uncle Pumble- 
chook s You must know, it's a pie ; a savory pork-pie 
(O-oes/orpie.) r 

Mr. IVopsle. A bit of savory pork-pie will lay atop of 
anything you could mention. 
Joe. You shall have some, Pip. 

Uncle P. Well, Mrs. Joe, we 11 do our best endeavors ; 
let us have a cut at this same pie. 

Mrs J Gracious goodness, gracious me, what's gone 
— with the — pie ! (Pip starts to run for i. ent.) 

Pinter Sergeant and guard with Magicitch and Com- 
pe //son. Mopping Pip. All rise in confusion, and Mrs 
Joe re-enters from Kitchen door. 

Hergt Here you are, look sharp, come on ! Excuse 
me, ladies and gentlemen, I am here in the name of the 
King, and I want the blacksmith. 

Mrs. Joe And pray, what might you want with him? 

Aergt. Misses, speaking for myself, I should reply, 

the honor and pleasure of his fine wile's acquaintance : 

speaking for the King, I answer, a little job done 



Uncle P. Good again ! 

Sergt You see, blacksmith, we have had an accident 
with those shackles, and I find the lock of one of 'em goes 
wrong, and the coupling dont act pretty. As they are 
wanted for immediate service, will you throw your eye 
over them ? 

Joe. I'll have to light my forge-fire. 

Sergt. Then will you set about it at once, blacksmith, 
as it's on his majesty's service. And if my men can bear 
a band anywhere, they'll make themselves useful (Exit 
Joe.) Would you give me the time? (to Uncle P.) 

Uncle P. It's just gone half-past two. 

Mrs. Joe. (Gives pitcher of beer to soldiers.) Have a 
glass of brandy, Sergeant ? 

Uncle P. (Sharply) Give him wine, mum. I'll engage 
there's no tar in that. 

Sergt. Thank you, I prefer to drink it without tar. 
Here's his majesty's health with the compliments of the 
season. 

Uncle P. Good stuff, eh, sergeant ? 

Sergt. Ill tell you something, I suspect that stuff's of 
your providing. 

Uncle P. Ay, Ay ? Why ? 

Sergt. Because (clapping him on shoulder) you're a 
man that knews what's what. 

Uncle P. D' ye think so. Have another glass ? 

Sergt. With you. Hob and nob. The top of mine to 
the foot of yours — the foot of yours to the top of mine — 
ring once, ring twice — the best tune on the musical 
glasses ! Your health. May you live a thousand years, 
and never be a worse judge of the right sort, than you are 
at the present moment of your life. 

Mr. Wopsle. Convicts, Sergeant ? 

Sergt. Two, who made their escape from the Hulk, 
| and whom we re-captured out on the marshes. 

Mag. Mind, I took him ! I gave him up to you ! 
I Mind that I 

Sergt. It's not much to be particular about, it '11 do 
I you small good, my man, being in the same plight your- 
self, 

Mag. I don't expect it to do me any good. I don't 
want it to do more good than it does now, (with a greedy 
\ laugh) I took him. He knows it. That's enough for me. 

Gomp. Take notice guard — he tried to murder me. 

Mag. Tried to murder hiin ? Try, and not do it ? I 



10 

took him, and giv' him up ; that's what I done. I not 
only prevented him from getting off the marshes, but 1 
dragged him — dragged him part of the way back. He's 
a gentleman, if you please, this villian. Now the hulks, 
has got it's gentleman again, through me. Murder him ! 
Worth my while to murder him, when I could do worse 
and drag him back. 

Comp. He tried — he tried — to murder me. Bear 
— bear witness. 

Mag. Looker here ! {to Sergt.) Single handed I got 
clear of the prison ship ; I made a dash and I done it. I 
could ha' got clear of those death cold flats likewise — 
look at my leg ; you won't find much iron on it — if I 
hadn't made discovery he was there. Let him proforfit by 
the means as I found out ? Let him make a tool of me 
afresh and again ? Once more ? No, no, no. If I had 
died at the bottom there, I'd have held to him with that 
grip, and you should have been safe to find him in my 
hold. 

Comp. He tried to murder me, I should have been a 
dead man if you had not come up. 

Mag. He lies. He's aliar born, and he'll die a liar. 
Look at his face ; ain't it written there ? Let him turn 
those eyes of his on me. I defy him to do it. That's how" 
he looked when we were tried together. He never looked 
at me. 

Comp. You are not much to look at. 

Mag. I'll smash your face for you. 

[Mag rushes upon Mm, Sergeant and guard interfere 
and pull him away. Women scream and jump upon 
chairs. Pumblechook gets under table. Quick curtain.) 

END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

SCENE 1. — Miss llavisham's Apartment. — Plain 
Chamber ±th Groove. — Arch or Centre door leading into 
a second Chamber. — Draped table r. c. with a gilded 
mirror upon it. Practicable fire in fire place. Lighted 
candles in Candelabras on table and mantel-shelf. Clock 
on /model with Iiands at twenty minutes to nine. A long 



11 

table in second chamber with faded table cloth spread 
An epergne, and bride-cake covered vnth cobwebs on 
table presenting the appearance o^' a feast having been 
prepared many years since. The rooms and furniture to 
have a faded and decayed appearax%ce. Lights down 
one-half 

Miss Havisham discovered seated in an arm chair at l. 
of table , with elbow resting upon the same and her head 
leaning on her hand. 

Estella. (At l. ent.) What name % 

Pumb. (Outside) Purnblechook. 

list. Quite right. 

Pumb. This, is Pip. 

Est. This is Pip, is it % Come in, Pip. 

(Enter Pip and Pumblechook following, is stopped by 
Estella. 

Est. Oh ! Did you wish to see Miss Havisham ? 

Pumb. If Miss Havisham wished to see me. 

Est. Ah ! but you see she don't. 

Pumb. (Indignant and severely eyeing Pijy.) Boy! 
Let your behavior here be a credit unto them which 
brought you up hy hand. (Exit.) 

Est. Go in, boy! 

Pip. After you, Miss. 

Est. Don't be ridiculous, boy ; I'm not going in. 

Miss IT. Who is it? 

Pip. Pip, ma-am. 

Miss H. Pip? 

Pip. Mr. Pumblechook's boy, ma-am. Come — to play. 

Miss H. Come nearer ; let me look at you. Come 
close. Look at me. You are not afraid of a woman, who 
has never seen the sun since you were born. 

Pip. No, ma-am. 

Miss H. Do you know what I touch here % (Laying 
, her hands one upjon the other, on her left side. ) 

Pip. Yes, ma'am. 

Miss H. What do I touch? 

Pip. Your heart. 

Miss H. Broken. I am tired, I want diversion, and 
I have done with men and women. Play. I sometimes 
have sick fancies, and I have a sick fancy that I want to 
see you play. There, there ! play, play, play ! Are you 
sullen and obstinate ! 

Pip. No ma'am. I am very sorry for you, and very 
sorry, I can't play just now. If you complain of me, I 



12 

shall get into trouble with my sister, so I would do it if 
I could ; but, it's so new here, and so strange, and so 
fine — and melancholy — 

Miss II So new to him, so old to me ; so strange to 
him, so familiar to me ; so melancholy to both of us. 
Since this house strikes you old and grave, boy, and you 
are unwilling to play, are you willing to work ! 
Pip Yes ma'am. I am quite willing. 
Miss II Come, come, come ! Walk me, walk me ! 
This, {pointing with her crutch-headed stick at long table, 
in second chamber.) is whtre I will be laid when I am dead. 
They shall come and look at me here. What do you think 
that is f {pointing with her stick) that, where those cob- 
webs are 1 

Pip. I can't guess, what it is, ma'am. 
Miss II It's a great cake. A bride-cake Mine ! — 
slower — call Estella (Pip goes to l. and calls Estella 
and returns to Miss II. and resumes walk.) 

Enter Estella with lighted candle, Sarah Pocket, Mr . 
and Mrs. Camilla, l. 

Sarah. Dear Miss Havisham, how well you look. 
Miss H. I do not, I am yellow skin and bone. 
Mrs. C. Poor dear soul ! Certainly not to be expected 
to look well, poor thing. The idea ! 
Miss H. And how are you ! 

Mrs. C. Thank you, Miss Havisham, I am as well as 
can be expected. 

Miss II Why, what's the matter with you ? {sharply.) 

3Irs C. Nothing worth mentioning, I don't wish to 

make a display of my feelings, but I have habitually 

thought of you more in the night than I am quite 

equal to. 

3Iiss II. Then don't think of me. 

Mrs. C. Very easily said, {repressing a sob.) Ray- 
mond is a witness what ginger and salvolatile, I am ob- 
liged to take in the night. Raymond is a witness what 
nervous jerkings I have in my legs. Chokings and nerv- 
ous jerkings, however, are nothing new to me when I 
think with anxiety of those I love. li I couZd be less 
affectionate and sensitive, I should have a better digestion 
and an iron set of nerves. I am sure JTwish it could be 
so. But as to not thinking of you in the night — the 
idea! {Tears.) 

Mr. C. Camilla, my dear, it is well known that your 
family feelings are gradually undermining you to the 



1 



13 

extent of making one of your legs shorter than the other. 

Sarah. I am not aware, that to think of any person is 
to make a great claim upon that person. Thinking is 
easy enough, what can be easier ? 

Mrs. C\ Oh yes, yes ! It's all very true ! It's a weak- 
ness to be so affectionate, but I can't help it. No doubt 
my health would be much better if it was otherwise, still 
I wouldn't change my disposition if I could. It's the 
cause of much suffering, but it's a consolation to know I 
possess it, when I wake up in the night. (Another burst 
of feeling. Pip and Miss Havisham continue walking 
around the room.) There's Mathew ! Never mixing with 
any natural ties, never coming here to see how Miss 
Havisham is ! I have taken to the sofa with my staylace 
cut, and I have lain there hours, insensible, with my head 
over the side, and my hair all down, and my feet I don't 
know where — 

Mr. C. Much higher than your head, my love. 

Mrs. C. I have gone into that state, hours after hours, 
on account of Matthew's strange and inexplicable con- 
duct, and nobody has thanked me. 

Sarah. You see, my dear, the question to put to your- 
self is, who did you expect to thank you, my love? 

Mrs. C. Without expecting any thanks, or anything 
of that sort, I have remained in that state, hours and 
hours, and Raymond is a witness of the extent to which 
I have choked, and what the inefficacy of ginger has been, 
and I have been heard at the pianoforte-tuner's across 
the street, where the poor mistaken children have sup- 
posed it to be pigeons cooing at a distance — and now to 
be told — 

Miss H Mathew will come and see me at last, (stern- 
ly) when I am laid on that table. That will be his pZace 
— (striking table in second chamber with her stick) at my 
head ! And your's will be there ! And your hushand's 
there ! And Georgiana's there ! Now you all know 
/where to take your stations when you come to feast upon 
me. And now go. ( To Pip) Walk me, walk me ! 

Mrs. C. I suppose there's nothing to be done,^but 
comply and depart. It's something to have seen the ob- 
ject of one's love and duty, even for so short of time, I 
shall think of it with a melancholy satisfaction when I 
wake up in the night. I wish Matthew could have that 
comfort, but he sets it at defiance. I am determined not 
to make a display of my feelings, but it's very hard to be 



14 

told one wants to feast on one's relations — as if one was 
a giant — and to be told to go. The bare idea ! (Kisses 
her hand to Mhs Hams ham ) ExuenttwUh haymond 
and Estella leading the way (l) with lighted candle. 

/Sarah. Bless you, Miss Havisham dear! {Exit l.) 

Miss II. {Stopping before the fire) This is my birth- 
day, Pip. 

Pip. I wish you many 

Miss H. {Raises her stick) I don't suffer it to be 
spoken of. I don't suffer those who were here just now, 
or any one to speak of it. They come here on the day, 
but they dare not refer to it. On this day of the year, 
long before you were born, this heap of decay,) stabbing 
toith her stick at the pile of cobwebs on the table) was 
brought here. It and I have worn away together. The 
mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than mice have 
gnawed at me. {Holds the crutched head of the stick 
against her heart, looking at the table) When the ruin 
is complete, and when they lay me dead, in my bride's 
dress on the bride's table — which shall be done, and 
which will be the finished curse upon him — so much the 
better if it is done on this day! {Enter Estella) Let 
me see you two play cards {Takes htr seat) Why, have 
you not begun ? 

Est. With this boy ! Why, he is a common labor- 
ing boy ! 

Miss H. Well? You can break his heart. {Aside to 
Estella.) 

Est What do you play, boy ? 

Pip. Nothing but beggar my neighbor, Miss. 

Miss H. {Aside to Estella) Beggar him. (They 
play at cards.) 

Est. He calls the knaves, Jacks, this boy ! And what 
coarse hands he has ! and what thick boots, {a misdeal) 
Your's a stupid clumsy laboring boy ! 

Miss H. {Aside to Pip) You say nothing of her, 
she says many hard things of you, yet you say nothing 
of her. What do you think of her ! 

Pip. I don't like to say. (Aside) 

Miss II Tell me in my ear. {Aside) 

Pip. I think she is very proud. [Aside] 

Miss II. Anything else f 

Pip, I think she is very pretty. 

Miss II. Anything else ? 

Pip. I think she is very insulting. 



15 

Miss II Anything else ? 

Pip. I should like to go home. 

Miss H. And never see her a^ain, though she is so 
pretty i 

Pip. lam not sure that I shouldn't like to see her 
again, but I should like to go home now. 

Miss 11. You shall go soon. [Aloud] Play the 
game out. 

Est. There, you are beggared again. ^Throwing 
cards down.] 

Miss H. When shall I have you here again? Let me 
think. 

Pip. The day is Wednes 

Miss H. There, there ! 1 know nothing of days of the 
week; I know nothing of weeks of the year. Come again 
after six days. You hear 1 

Pip. Yes, ma'am. 

Miss H. Estella, take him down. Let him have 
something to eat. Go Pip. 

Est. \_As they are at l.] Come here, boy, you may 
kiss me if you like. [Pip kisses her. Exeunt l.] 

SCENE W.—A Room at Pomblechooks, 1st G. Table 

and 2 Chairs. Enter 3Irs. Joe, Pumblechook 

and Pip. r. 

Pumb. Well, boy ! How did you get on at Miss 
Havisham's. 

Pip. Pretty well, sir. 

Pumb. Pretty well ? Pretty well is no answer. [Mrs. 
Joe makes demonstration tovmrds Pip.] No, don't lose 
your temper. Leave this lad to me, ma'am ; leave this 
lad to me. [Tarns Pip towards him) First — to get 
our thoughts in order — Forty three pence? Now! how 
much is forty-three pence ? 

Pip. I don't know. 

I Pumb. Is forty-three pence seven and sixpence three 
f xdens, for instance ? 

Pip. Yes. Mrs Joe boxes his ears. 

Pumb. Boy ! What like is Miss Havisham ? 

Pip. Very tall and dark. 

Mrs. Joe. Is she, Uncle ? 

Pump. Winks assent. Good ! — This is the way 

have him ! We are beginning to hold our own. I 
1 link, mum ? 



16 

Mrs. Joe. I am sure, uncle ; I wish you had him 
always ; you know so well how to deal with him. 

Pumb: Now, boy! What was she a-doing of, when 
you went in to day ? 

Pip. She was setting in a black-velvet coach. 

Pumb. db Mrs. Joe. In a black velvet coach ? 

Pip. Yes, and Miss Estalla — that's her niece I think 
— handed her in cake and wine at the coach-window, on 
a gold plate ; and we all had cake and wine on gold 
plates, and 1 got up behind the coach to eat mine, be- 
cause she to d me to. 

Pumb. Was anybody else there ? 

Pip. Four dogs. 

Pumb. Large or small ? 

Pip. Immense, and they fought for veal-cutlets out 
of a silver basket, 

Mrs. Joe. Where was this coach, in the name of gra- 
cious ? 

Pip. In Miss Havisham's room — but there weren't 
any horses to it. 

Mrs. Joe. Can this be possible, uncle ? What can 
the boy mean ? 

Pumb. I'll tell you, mum. My opinion is, it's a 
sedan chair. She s flighty, you know — very flighty — 
quite flighty enough to pass her days in a sedan-chair. 

Mrs. Joe. Did you ever see her in it, uncle ! 

Pumb. How t could I, wh< n I never Bee her in my life? 
never clapped eyes upon her ! 

Mrs. Joe. Goodness Uncle ! and yet you have spoken 
to her ? 

Pumb. Why don't you know, that when I have been 
there, I have been took up to the outside of her door, and 
the door has stood ajar, and she has spoken to me that 
way. Don't say you don't know that, mum. Howsever, 
the boy went there to play. What did you play at, boy ? 

Pip. We played with flags. 

Mrs Joe. Flags! 

Pip. Yes. Estella waved a blue flag, and I waved a 
red one, and Miss Havisham waved one sprinkled all over 
with little gold stars, out at the coach window ; and then 
we all waved our swords and hurraed. 

Mrs. Joe. Swords ! Where did you get swords from ? 

Pip. Out of a cupboard, and /saw pistols in it — and 
jam — and pills. And there was no daylight in the room, 
but it was all lighted up with candles. 



17 

Purab. That's true, mum; that's the state of the case, 
for that much I've seen myself. It's near time that Jo- 
seph was back, and then we shall know what Miss Havis- 
ham intends to do for the boy. 

Mrs. Joe. Take my word for it, she will do something 
for him, and I should not be surprised if it takes the 
shape of property. 

Pumb. No, no, depend upon it, it will be a handsome 
premium for binding him an apprentice to a genteel trade 
— say the corn and seed trade for instance. 

Enter Joe Gargery l. 

Mrs. Joe. Well ! And what's happened to you ? I 
wonder you condescend to come back to such poor society 
as this, I am sure I do. 

Joe. Miss Havisham, made it very partick'ler that I 
should give her — respects, no, compliments to Mrs. J. 
Gargery. 

Mrs. Joe. Much good they'll do me ! 

Joe. And wishing — that the state of — Miss Havis- 
ham's elth — were sitch as would have — allowed her — 
having the — pleasure of ladies' company. 

Mrs. Joe . Well ! She might have had the politeness 
to send that message at first, but it's better late than 
never. And what did she give young Rantipole here % 

Joe. She giv' him, nothing. 

Mrs. Joe. What! 

Joe. What she giv' she giv to his friends, and by his 
friends, were her explanation, I mean into the hands of 
his sister, Mrs. J. Gargery. Them were her words, Mrs. 
J. Gargery. She may'n have know'd > whether it were 
Joe or Jorge. 

Mrs. Joe. And how much have you got ? 

Joe. What would present company say to ten pound ! 

Mrs. Joe. They'd say, pretty well. Not too much, 
but pretty well. 

Joe. It's more than that, then. 
I Pumb. It's more than that, mum. 

Mrs. Joe. Why, you don't mean to say 

Pumb. Yes, I do, mum, but w T ait a bit. Go on, Jo- 
seph. Good in you ! Go on ! 

Joe. What would present company, say to twenty 
)ound ! 

Mrs. Joe, Handsome, would be the word. 

Joe. Well then, it's more than twenty pound. 



18 

Pamb. It's more than that, mum. Good again ! Fol- 
low her up, Joseph ! 

Joe. Then to make an end of it, {handing bag to Mrs. 
Joe) it's five-and-twenty pound. 

Pumb. It's five-and-twenty pound, mum, (rises and 
shakes hands with her) and it's no more tiian your merits 
— as I said when my opinion was asked, — and I wish 
you joy of the money. {Takes Pip bp the arm above the 
elbow.) Now you see, Joseph and wife, lam one of them 
that always go right through with what they've begun. 
This boy must be bound out of hand. That's my way. 
Bound out of hand. 

Mrs Joe. Goodness knows, Uncle Pumblechook, 
(grasping the money) we're deeply beholden to you. 

Pumb. Never mind me, mum, a pleasur's a pleasure 
all the world over. But this boy, you know ; we must 
have him bound to Joseph here. The Justices are now 
sitting in the Town. Hall. Let us go at once. I said I'd 
see to it, and so I will. (Exeunt l.) 

SCENE III. — Gargery J s Kitchen. Enter Mr. & Mrs. 
Joe and Pip. l. 

Mrs. Joe. (Taking off her bonnet and shawl) I de- 
clare I'm completely done out, and if once in a lifetime I 
do get my apron off, it's only that I may run myself to 
death for an ungrateful boy. 

Enter Orlick (in work clothes) l. d. in flat. 

Orlick. Now, master ! Surely you're not agoing to 
favor all but one of us. If young Pip has a holiday to 
day, do as much for old Orlick to morrow. 

Joe. Why, what'll you do with a holiday, if you get it % 

Or. What'll I do with it? What did he do with it? 
I'll do as much with it as him. 

Joe. As to Pip, he's been up-town. 

Or. Well then, as to old Orlick, he's agoing up town. 
Two can go up-town. Tain't only one wot can go up- 
town. 

Joe. Don't lose your temper. 

Or. Shall if I like. Now, Master! Come. No favor 
ing here. Be a man. Now, Master. 

Joe. Then, as in general you stick to your work as 
well as most men, let it be a holiday for you to morrow. 

Mrs. Joe. Like you, you fool ! Giving holidays to 



19 



ri a tW You are a rich man, upon 
great idle hulkers like that ^ ion a £ ^ 

my life, to waste wages iu tnatwaj. 

master! „j„» a master if you duivt (with 

Or. You'd be everybody s mastei y 

an ill favored grin). 

Jje. Let her alone. noodles and all rogu.s, 

Mrs. Joe. I'd be a mate Wor all noo without bei 

and I couldn't be a ^Vho's the duade^eaded king of 
a match for your mastei, ^^ s the a h for the ru gues. 

makesajudg T ofroguesyouou,httobe g 

Joe. Let her alone will you. , 

lf, s .Joe. Whatdidyousay! VVhat did 7 * d 

What did that fellow ^.^to^rOh! Oh! Oh! 

he call me, with my ^^"^^bJore the base man 

What was the name that he g^ve , 

ho Syou\ h ut\he d pSp, y and choke it out of you. 
j i I tell you let her done ^ ^ 

Mrs. Joe. On I do &W™- fa , Me , a 

giving me I ^ O^k ^/^nding by , 0h I oh ! 

^r^X^X /SV X see, O m 
knocked down.) 



end or act ii. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I -A Boom in Gargets House, 1st or U o.- 

sc ™4 c^W) * p ^ discovered at l *' 



20 

Pip. Yes, Biddy, you were my first teacher, and that 
at a time when we little thought of ever being together 
like this, in this room. 

Biddy. Yes, Pip, that was when we were both being 
brought up by hand, and here I have been your teacher 
since the day your poor dear sister received that terrible 
blow. 

Pip. Do you think it was Orlick that struck her ? 

Biddy. It can hardly be possible, Pip, for there is 
scarcely a day goes by that she does not send for him, 
and give him something to drink ; besides, it was proved 
that Orlick was up town when the blow was struck. He 
is a strange man, and I don't like him. 

Pip. Why, don t you like him ? 

Biddy. Because, 1 — I am afraid he likes me. 

Pip. Did he ever tell you he liked you ? 

Biddy. No, he never told me so ; but he dances at 
me, whenever he can catch my eye. 

Pip. I'll keep an eye on Mr. Orlick after this. But 
Biddy it is not about Orlick that I want to talk, it's about 
myself, — Biddy I w^ant to be a gentleman. 

Biddy. Oh, 1 wouldn't if I. was you. I don't think it 
would answer. 

Pip. Biddy, I have particular reasons for wanting to 
be a gentleman. 

Bid. You know best, Pip, but don't you think you 
are happier as yow. are ? 

Pip. Biddy, I am not at all happy as I am. I am 
disgusted with my calling and with my life. /have 
never taken to either since I was bound. Don't be 
absurd. 

Bid. Was I absurd ? I am sorry for that ; I didn't 
mean to be. I only want you to do well and be com- 
fortable. 

Pip. Well, then, understand once for all that /never 
shall or can be comfortable — or anything but miserable 
— there Biddy ! — unless I can lead a very different sort 
of life from the life I lead now. 

Bid. That's a pity ! 

Pip. If 1 could have settled down — if J could have 
settled down and been but half as fond of the forge as I 
was when I was little, I know it would have been much 
better for me. You and I, and Joe would have wanted 
nothing then, and Joe and I perhaps would have gone 
partners when 1 was out of my time, and /might even 



21 

have grown up to keep company with you, and we might 
have taken a walk every fine Sunday on the marshes, 
quite different people. I should have been good enough 
for you, shouldn't I, Biddy ? 

Bid. Yes ; I am not overparticular. 

Pip. Instead of that, see how I am going on. Dissa- 
tisfied, and uncomfortable, and — what would it signify 
to me, being coarse and common, if nobody had told 
me so. 

Biddy. It was neither a very true nor a very polite 
thing to say. Who said it % 

Pip. The beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham's, 
and she's more beautiful than anybody I ever saw, and I 
admire her dreadfully, and I want to be a gentleman on 
her account. 

Bid. I am glad of one thing, and that is, that you 
have felt you could give me your confidence, Pip. And I 
am glad of another thing, and that is, that of course you 
know you may depend upon my keeping it, and always 
so far deserving it. If your first teacher — dear ! such 
a poor one, and so much in need of being taught herself ! 
— had been your teacher at the present time, she thinks 
she knows what lesson she would set. But it would be 
a hard one to learn, and you have got beyond her, and it's 
of no use now. 

Pip. Biddy ! {embracing her) I shall always tell you 
everything. 

Bid. Till you're a gentleman. 

Pip. You know I never shall be, so that's always. 
But Biddy, I wish you could put me right. 

Biddy. I wish I could ! 

Pip. If I could only get myself to fall in love with 
you — you don't mind my speaking so openly to such 
an old acquaintance ? 

Biddy. Oh dear, not at all! 

Pip. If I could only get myself to do it, that would 
be the thing for me. 

Biddy, (l) But you never will, you see. 

Orlick puts his head in window in flat. 

Or. Halloo ! "What are you two doing. 

Pip. (r) What is it to you ? 

Or. Well, then, I'm jiggered if I don't see about it — 
but here's the master, and old Orlick has no business here 
when he's around. {Exit.) 



22 

Enter Gargery & Jaggers door in flat. Biddy exits 
l. Jaggers takes seat at l of table, drains the candle to 
him and looks over some entries in pocket-book / puts up 
the pocket-book, sets the candle a little aside and peers at 
Joe and Pip r. 

Jag. My name is Jaggers, and I am a lawyer in Lon- 
don. I am pretty well known. I have unusual business 
to transact with you, and I commence by explaining Iiijlz 
it is not of my originating. If my advice had been asked, 
I should not have been here. It was not asked, and you 
see me here. What I have to do as the confidential agent 
of another, I do. No less, no more. ( Gets up and 
throios one leg over back of chair with foot on the seat and 
the other foot on the ground.) Now, Joseph Gargery, I 
am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of this young fel- 
low, your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his 
indentures at his request and for his good ? You would 
want nothing for so doing ? 

Joe. Lord forbid that I should want anything for not 
standing in Pips way. 

Jag. Lord forbidding is pious, but not to the pur- 
pose. The question is, would you want anything ! Dj 
you want anything ? 

Joe. The answer is, No. 

Jag. Very well. Recollect the admission you have 
made, and don't try to go from it presently. 

Joe. Who's agoing to try ? 

Jag. I don't say any body is. Do you keep a dog ? 

Joe. Yes, I do keep a dog. 

Jag. Bear in mind then, that Brag is a good dog, but 
that Holdfast is a better. Bear that in mind, will you ? 
Now, I return to this young fellow, and the communica- 
tion I have got to make is, that he has Great Expecta- 
tions. I am instructed to communicate to him, that he 
will come into a handsome property. Further, that it is 
the desire of the present possessor of that property, that 
he be immediately removed from his present sphere of 
life and from this place, and be brought up as a gentle- 
man — in a word, as a young fellow of great expect a 
tions. Now, Mr. Pip, I address the rest of what I have 
to say to you. You are to understand, first, that it is the 
request of the person from whom I take my instructions, 
that you always bear the name of Pip. You will have no 
objections I dare say, to your great expectations being 



23 



encumbered with that easy condition. But if you have 
any objection, this is the time to mention it. 

Pip. i have no objections. 

Jag. I should think not ! Now you are to understand 
secondly, Mr. Pip, that the name of the person who is 
your liberal benefactor remains a profound secret until 
the person chooses to reveal it at first hand by word of 
mouth to yourself. When or where that intention may 
be earned out 1 can not say ; no one can say. It may be 
years hence. Now, you are distinctly to understand that 
you are most positively prohibited from making any in- 
quiry on this head, or any allusion, or reference however 
distant, to any individual whomsoever as the individual, 
in all the communications you may have with me if 
you have a suspicion in your own breast, keep that su- 
spicion in your own breast. It is not the least to the 
purpose what the reasons of this prohibition are ; they 
may be the strongest and gravest reasons, or they may be 
a mere whim. The condition of it is laid down. Your 
acceptance of it, is the only remaining condition I am 
charged with by the person from whom you derive your 
expectations, and the secret is solely by that person and 
by me ; but if you have any objection to it, this is the 
time to mention it. Speak out. 

Pip. I have no objections. 

Jag. I should think not. Now, Mr. Pip, I have done 
with stipulations. You must know that although I use 
the term 'Expectations ' more than once, you are not en- 
dowed with expectations only, There is already lodged 
in my hands a sum of money amply sufficient for your 
suitable education and maintainance You will please 
consider me your guardian. 

Pip. Oh I thank 

Jag. I tell you at once, I am paid for my services, or 
I shouldn't render them. It is considered that you must 
be better educated, in accordance with your altered posi- 
tion, and that you will be alive to the importance and ne- 
cessity of at once entering on that advantage. 

Pip. I have always longed for it. 

Jag. Never mind what you have always longed for, 
!Mr. Pip, keep to the record. Am I answered that you 
lare ready to be placed at once under some proper tutor ? 
Is that it ? 
; Pip. Y"es sir, that's it. 

Jag. Good. Now, your inclination* are to be con- 



24 

suited. I don't think that wise, mind, but it's my trust. 
Have you ever heard of any tutors whom you would prefer 
to another ? 

Pip. I have never heard of any tutor but Biddy and 
Mr. Wopsle s g*-eat aunt, 

Jag. There is a certain tutor, who I think might suit 
the purpose, 1 don't recommend him, observe ; because 
1 never recommend anybody. The gentleman 1 speak of 
is one Mr. Matthew Pocket. 

Pip. Ah ! 

Jag. You know the name ? 

Pip. I have heard of the name. 

Jag. Oh, you have heard of the name! But the 
question is, what do tou say of it? 

Pip. 1 am much obliged to you for your recommen- 
dation 

Jag. No, my young friend ! Recollect yourself! 

Pip. I am very much obliged to you for — 

Jag. No, my young friend, no, no, no ; its very well 
done, but it wont do ; you are too young to fix me with 
it. Recommendation is not the word, Mr. Pip. Try 
another. 

Pip. I am much obliged to you for the mention of Mr. 
Matthew Pocket. — 

Jag. That's more like it. 

Tip. And I will gladly try that gentleman. 

Jag Good. The way will be prepared for you. First, 
you should have some new clothes to come in, and they 
should not be working clothes. Say you come this day 
week. You 11 wamt some money Shall I leave you 
twenty guineas ? (Sits astride the chair and counts out 
the money.} Well, Joseph Gargery? You look dumb- 
foundered ? 

Joe. lam. 

Jag. It was understood that you wanted nothing for 
yourself, remember ? 

Joe. It were understood, and it are understood, and 
it ever will be similar according. 

Jag. But what, what if it was in my instructions to 
make you a present as a compensation. 

Joe. As compensation what for ? 

Jag. For the loss of his services 

Joe. (Lays his hand on Pip's shoulder) Pip is that! 
hearty welcome, to go free with his services, to honor and j 
tortun', as no words can tell him. But if yon think as j 



25 

money can make compensation to me for the loss of the 
little child — what come to the forge — and ever the best 
of friends ! — 

Pip. Dear Joe, be comforted, it is true we've been 
ever the best of friends, and we ever will be so. 

Jag. Now, Joseph Gargery, I warn you this is your 
last cnance. No half measure with me. If you mean to 
take a present that I have it in charge to make you, speak 
out, and you shall have it. If on the contrary, you mean 
to say — 

Joe. Which I meantersay, that if you come into my 
place bull-baiting and badgering me, come out ! Which 
I meantersay as sech if you're a man, come on ! Which 
I meantersay that what I say I meantersay, and stand or 
fall by! [Joe advances totoard Jaggers and is restrained 
by Pip. Jaggers retires backward to door in flat.) 

Jag. Well, Mr, Pip, I think the sooner you leave 
here — as you are to be a gentleman — the better You 
can take a hackney-coach at the stage-coach office in Lon- 
don and come straight to me. Understand that I express 
no opinion, one wey or other, on the trust I undertake. 
I am paid for undertaking it, and I do so. Now, under- 
stand that finally. Understand that ! (Backs out door 
in flat t throwing his finger at both ) Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Miss J/avisham's as Scene I, Act 2. — Miss 
Havisham & Estella discovered, the former vjith 
Estellds arm drawn through her arm, and Estel- 
la s hand clutched in her's, regarding her 
vnth eager fondness. Estella disen- 
gages herself. 

3Iiss H. What ! are you tired of me ? 

Est. Only a little tired of myself. (Disengages her 
arm and moves to chimney -pieced) 

Miss H. Speak the truth, you ingrate! (passionately 
strikes her stick on the floor) You are tired of me. 
(Estella looks at her with composure.) You stock and 
stone ! You cold, cold heart ! 

Est. (In an attitude of indifference icith right hand 
resting on mantel. ) What ! do you reproach me for 
being cold ? You ? 

Miss H. Are you not 1 (fiercely) 

Est. You should know, I am what you have made me. 
Take all the praise, take all the blame ; take all the suc- 
cess, take all the failure ; in short, take me. 



26 

Miss II Oh, look at her, look at her! (bitterly) Look 
at her, so liar J and thankless, on the hearth where sue 
was reared! Where I took her into this wretched breast, 
when it was first bleeding from the stabs, and where i 
have lavished years of tenderness upon her ! 

JEst. At least I was no party to the compact, for if 
I could walk and speak when it was made, it was as much 
as I could do. But w T hat would you have ! You nave 
been very good to me, and I owe everything to you. 
What would you have % 

Miss H. Love. 

JEst. You have it. 

Miss H. . I have not. 

JEst Mother by adoption, I have said that I owe every- 
thing to you. All I possess is freely yours. All that you 
have given me is at your command to have again. Be- 
yond that I have nothing. And if you ask me to give you 
w T hat you never gave me, my gratitude and duty can not 
do impossibilities. 

Miss II Did I never give you love ? Did I never 
give you a burning love, inseparable from jealousy at ali 
times, and from snarp pain, while you thus speak to me. 
Call me mad, call me mad ! 

JEst. Why should I call you mad, I, of all people ? 
Does any one live who knows wmat set purposes you nave 
half as well as I do ! Does any one live who knows what 
a steady memory you have half as well as I do ? I who 
have sat on this same hearth on the little stool that is 
even now besides you there, learning your lessons and 
looking up into your face, when your face was strange 
and frightened me ! 

Miss H. Soon forgotten ! [moaned) Times soon for- 
gotten ! 

JEst. No, not forgotten, not forgotten, but treasured 
up in my memory. When have you found me unmindful 
of your lessons ? When have you found me giving ad- 
mission here (touches her bosom with her hand) to any 
thing that you excluded ? Be just to me. 

Miss II So proud, so proud ! ( Pushes away her 
(j ray hair with both her hands.) 

Est. Who taught me to be proud ? Who praised me 
when I learned my lesson ? 

Miss II So hard, so hard ! 

Est Who taught me to be hard ? Who praised me 
when I learned my lesson ? 



27 

Miss H. But to be proud and hard to ms (alm'tst 
shrieking and stretching out her arms) Estella, Estella, 
Estella, to be proud and hard to me ! 

Est. [Looks at her in calm wonderment) I cannot 
think, why you should be so unreasonable when I come 
to see you after a separation. 1 have never been unfaith- 
ful to you or your schooling. I have never shown an/ 
weakness that I can charge myself with. 

Miss H. Wonld it be weakness to return my love I 
But yes, yes, you would call it so 

Est. L begin to think, that I almost understand how 
this comes about. If you had brought up your adopted 
daughter wholly in the dark confinement of these rooms, 
and had never let her know that there was such a thing as 
the dayjight by which she has never once seen your face 
— if you haH done that, and then, for a purpose, had 
wanted her to understand the daylight and know all about 
it, you would have been disappointed and angry 1 {Miss 
U. makes a low moaning swaying herself on the chair. ) 
Or, — which is a nearer case — if you had taught her, 
from the dawn of her intelligence, with your utmost ener- 
gy and might, that there was such a thing as daylight, 
but that it was to be made her enemy and destroyer, and 
she must always turn against it, for it had blighted you 
and would else blight her — if you had done this, and 
then, for a purpose, had wanted her to take naturally to 
the daylight and she could not do it, you would have 
been disappointed and angry. So, I must be taken as I 
have been made. The success is not mine, the iailure is 
not mine, but the two together make me. (3fiss Hams- 
ham s face is buried in her arm, resting on the crutched 
stick) Hark, some one is coming, let it not appear, that 
the tutor is lei^s apt than the pupil. {Estella aits on the 
stool at 31iss Havisham 1 s knee and takes an article of 
dress and begins sewing. Miss Uavisham raises and 
turns her head at the sound of the entrance.) 

Enter Pip fashionably dressed, and Sarah Poeket. l. 

Sarah. Dear Miss Havisham, here's this young man 
wants to see you. 

Miss H. Don't go, Sarah. Well, Pip. 

Pip. I start for London, Miss Havisham, and I thought 
you would kindly not mind my taking leave of you. 

Miss H. This is a gay figure, Pip. ( Using her crutch- 
stick as though it was a wand.) 



28 

Pip. I have come into such Great Expectations since 
I saw you last, Miss Havisham. And I am so grateful 
for it, Miss Havisham. 

MifS II Ay, ay! (looking at the envious Sarah with 
delight) I have seen Mr. Jaggers. I have heard about 
it, Pip, So you go to London ? 

Pip. Yes, Miss Havisham. 

Miss II. And you are adopted by a rich person ? 

Pip. Yes, Miss Havisham. 

MissJB. Not named? 

Pip. No, Miss Havisham. 

Miss H. And Mr. Jaggers is made your guardian ? 

Pip. Yes, Miss Havisham. 

Miss H. And you are always to keep the name of 
Pip, you know. 

Gip. Yes, Miss Havisham. 

Miss, II Well, you have a promising career before 
you. Be good — deserve it — and abide by Mr. Jag- 
ger's instructions. (Eoit Sarah Picket l. shoving htr 
jealcvs\ and dismay J) But, Pip, is there no one else to 
whom you wish to say good-bye ? (Estella rises and 
gives her hand to Pip.) 

Pip. Why, Miss Estella, it is a great pleasure to see 
you again. I have been looking forward to it for a long 
time. 

Miss II Do you find her much changed, Pip ? [In- 
dicates tcith her stick for Estella & Pip> to be seated. 

Pip. [c] When I came in, Miss Havisham. I thought 
there was nothing of Estella in the face or figure ; but now 
it all settles down so curiously into the old 

Miss II What? You are not going to say the old 
Estella ? She was proud and insulting and you wanted 
to go awa} r from her. Don t you remember ? 

Pip. That was long ago. I knew no better then. 

Est. I have no doubt, he was quite right. I know I 
must have been very disagreeable. 

Miss If. Is he changed ? 

E?t. Very much. 

Miss II Less coarse and common. [Estella laughs'] 
I know you wish to say something to each other, the 
room is large enough for vou to say it in without my 
hearir g. [ They go to l table.'] 

Pip. Our meeting again under this roof revives 
memories of the past Do you remember the first day 
I came here, you made me cry? 



29 

Est (Coldly and carelessly) No, you must know, 
that I 'have no heart -if that has anything to do with 

m K m °i 5 take the liberty of doubting that. I know better 
_ there can be no such beauty without it 

Est Oh ' I have a heart to be stabbed m, or shot m, 
I have no doubt, and, of course, if it ceased to beat, I 
should cease to be. But you know what I mean I have 
no softness there, no - sympathy - sentiment - non- 
sense I am serious, if we are to be thrown much 

together you had better believe it at once, and take 
warning.' {Pip attempts to sp.ak) No ! I have not be- 
stowed my tenderness anywhere. I have never had any 

such thing. 

Pip I can not believe what you have said. 

Est Then you don't ? Very well. It is said at any 
rate Miss Havisham expects you at your old post. Come, 
conduct me to the garden, and then return to her You 
shall not shed tears for my cruelty to-day ; yen shall be 
mv Page, and give me your shoulder. {Pip conducts her 
oif left Miss Havisham has attentively observed them.) 

Miss 11 He loves her, he loves her ! She will wrmg 
his heart as mine has been. Who am I ! (striking her 
stick upon the floor and flashing into wrath) Who am 
I for God's sake, that I should be kind % What has been 
my bitter experience, that I should be at the pains of en- 
treating him to shun the consequences of his blindness. 
Why should I shield him, when my own brother sacri- 
ficed me. He has made the snare himself, it is not of my 
contriving. Let him be caught in it. He returns. 

Re-enter Pip. l. 

31iss H. Is she beautiful, graceful, well grown ? Do 

you admire her ? _ ., 

Pip Everybody must who sees her, Miss Havisham. 

Miss H ( With an arm around Pips neck, she draws 

his head close down to hers.) Love her, love her, love 

her ! If she favors you, love her. If she wounds you, 

] love ler {With a passionate eagerness) If she tears 

" vour heart to pieces — and as it gets older and stronger 

] it will tear deeper — love her, love her, love her ! Hear 

j me Pip ' I adopted her to be loved. I bred her and 

J educated her to be loved. I developed her into what she 

sin is, that she might be loved. Love her. Ill tell you, 

Fh, what real love is. It is blind devotion, unquestionmg 



30 

sslf-humilition, utter submission, trust and belief against 
yourself and against the whole world, giving upyour w hole 
heart and soul to the smitar — as I did. (ibises, utters 
a wild cry, clutches at the air; and swoons into her seat.) 

SCENE III. — Pip>s apartment in Barnard's Inn. — Enter 
Pip , followed by Magwitch. r. 

Pip. Pray, what is your business. 

Mag. (Advances to Pip with both hands extended as 
if expecting recognition) My business, All! i'e-. I 
will explain my business, by your leave. (Pulls off a 
rough outer coat and hat, and again extends his hands. ) 

Pip. What do you mean ? 

Mag. It's disappointing to a man, arter having looked 
for'ard so distant, and come so fur ; but you're not to 
blame for that — neither on us is to blame for that. I'll 
speak in half a minute. Give me half a minute, please. 
(Sits down on a chair near fire) There's no one nigh, 
is there ? 

Pip Why do you a stranger coming into my rooms 
at this time of the night, ask that question ? 

Mag. ( Takes file from his pocket and shows it ; 
takes handkerchief from his neck, and ties it around his 
head, hugs himself with both his arms, and takes a 
shivering turn from l to r and back, takes PipSs hands, 
kisses them and retains them.) You acted nobly, my boy ! 
Noble Pip ! And I have never forgot it. (Makes a mo- 
tion as if to embrace him ) 

Pip. Stay ! Keep off ! If you are grateful to me 
for wmat I did when I was a little child; I hope you have 
shown your gratitude by mending your way of life. If 
you have come here to thank me, it was not necessary. 
Still, however you have found me out, there must be 
something good in the feeling that has brought you here, 
and I will not repulse you ; but surely you must under- 
stand — I 

Mag. You was a saying, that surely I must under- 
stand. What surely must I understand. 

Pip. That I can not wish to renew that chance inter- 
course with you of long ago, under these different cir- 
cumstances. I am glad to believe you have repented and 
recovered yourself. I am glad to tell you so. 
I am glad that thinking 1 deserved to be thanked, 
you have come to thank me. But our ways are 
different ways, none the less. You are wet and you 



31 



look weary. Will you drink something before you go ? 

Mag. (In a broken voice, while Pip takes bottle and 
glass from table) I think, that I will drink — I thank 
you — afore I go. % 

Pip. (Handing him the glass) Tears. The poor 
fellow ! (aside) I hope }^ou will not think I spoke harsh- 
ly to you just now. I had no intention of doing it, and I 
am sorry for it if I did. I wish you well and happy. ( They 
shake hands, and drink. — Mag. draws his sleeve across 
Jus eyes and forehead.) How are you living ? 

Mag. I've been a sheep-farmer, stock-breeder, other 
trades besides, away in the new world, many a thousand 
mile of stormy water off from this. 

Pip. I hope you have done well ? 

Mag. I've done wonderful well. There's others went 
out alonger me as has done well too, but no man has done 
nigh as well as me I'm famous for it. 

Pip. I am glad to hear it. 

Mag. I hope to hear you say so, my dear boy. 

Pip. Have you ever seen a messenger you once sent 
to me, since he undertook that trust ? 

Mag. Never sot eyes upon him. I warnt likely to it. 

Pip. He came faithfully, and he brought me the two 
one-pound notes. I was a poor boy then, as you know, 
and to a poor boy they were a little fortune. But, like 
you, I have done well since, and you must let me pay 
them back. You can put them- to some other poor boys 
use. ( Takes out two bank notes and hands them to Mag, 
who folds them lengthwise, gives them a twist, sets fire to 
them and lets them burn on the tray that is on the table.) 

Mag. May I make so bold, as ask you how you have 
done well, since you and me was out on them lone shiver- 
ing marshes ? 

Pip. How? 

Mag. Ah ! (Empties his glass, gets up and goes to 
fire, rests his hand on mantel shelf, pn.ts afoot up to the 
bars to dry and warm it, and looks steadily at Pip.) 

Pip. I have been chosen to succeed to some property. 

Mag. Might a mere warmint ask what property 1 

Pip. I — I — don't know. 

Mag. Might a mere warmint ask whose roperty ? 

Pip. I — I — don't — know. 

Mag. Cauldl make a guess, I wonder, at your income 
sin 2e you come of age ! As to the first figure, now. 
Five ? (Pip rises out of his chair, and atands with hand 



32 

upon the back of it, looking wildly at him) Concerning 
a guardian. There ought to have been some guardian or 
suchlike whiles 3 7 ou was a minor. Some lawyer, maybe. 
As to the first letter of that lawyer's name now. Would 
it Ife J ? Put it, as the employer of that lawyer whose 
name begun with a J. and might be Jaggers — put it, as 
his employer had come over sea to Portsmouth, and had 
landed there, and had wanted to come on to you. That 
employer wrote to a person in London, for particulars of 
your address, That person's name is Wemmick, and the 
consequence is, that employer is here. [Pip reels, Mag- 
witch catches him and draws him to a sofa, kneels on one 
knee beside him.) Yes, Pip, dear boy, I've made a gentle- 
man on you ! It's me wot has done it ! I swore that 
time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea should 
go to you. 1 swore arterward, sure as ever I spec'lated 
and got rich, you should get rich. I lived rough that 
you should live smooth; I worked hard that you should 
be above work. [They both rise'] What odds, dear boy? 
Do J tell it for you to feel a obligation? Not a bit. I 
tell it for you to know as that there hunted dunghill dog 
wot you kep' life in got his head so high that he could 
make a gentleman — and Pip, you're him ! Look'er here, 
Pip. Im your second father. You're my son — more 
to me nor any son. Jve put away money, only fo** you 
spend, lye made you a gentieman. [Again takes Pip J s 
hands and puts them to his lips. Pip shudders and re- 
coils, Mag again draws his sleeve ovev his eyes and 
forehead and utters a "click'' sound from his throat] 
Don't you mind talking, Pip. You ain't looked slowly 
forward to this as / have ; you wosn't prepared for this 
as /wos. But didn't you never think it might be me? 

Pip. Oh no, no. Never, never ! 

Mag. Well you see it tcos me, and single handed. 

Pi]y. Was there no one else ? 

Mag. No, who else should there be ? And dear boy, 
how good looking you have growed ! 

Pip. Not Miss Havisham ! Estella not designed for 
me ! [Asicle | 

Mag. Where will you put me ? I must be put some- 
wheres, dear boy. 

Pip. My friend and companion, Herbert, is absent. 
/ will put you in his room. 

Mag. He wont come hack to morrow; will he? 

/ ; fp. I can not say when ho will return. 



33 



Mag. Because, looker here, dear boy, {dropping his 
mice) caution is necessary. 

Pip. How do you mean I Caution f 

Mag. By , it's death ! 

Pin Wiiat's death? , , , 

Ala I was sent for life. It's death to come back_ 
There's been overmuch coming back of late years, and I 
should of a certainty be hanged if took. 

%. tcVuMe^Stedearboyiflhadi, {Mag- 
vitchiits at table and eats in a greedy ravenous way the 
food Pip sets before him.) 

Pip I do not even know, by what name to call you. 
Shall I give out, that you are my mice ! 

Maa That's it, dear boy ! , 

Pip. You assumed some name, I suppose, on board 

Sh J/L7. Yes, dear boy. I took the name of Provis. 

Pip. What is your real name '? 

Mag. Magwitch, chrisen'd Abel. 

Pin What were you brought up to be I 

Maa. A warmint, dear boy. I'm a heavy grubber, 
dear boy, but I always was. If it had been m my con- 
ation to be a lighter grubber, I might ha got ink, 
lighter trouble. ( Takes out a short black pipe and pro- 
ceeds to Jill it from loose tobacco in the pocket of his pea- 
coat, and lights it at fire place.) ^Similarly I — ^ have 
rrw smoke When I was first hired out as Shepherd 
7o5T side the world, it's my belief I f -Id ha' tolled 
into a molloncoily mad sheep myself, if I hadn t a-had my 
my smoke. And this, {dandling Pip's hands up and 
dlwn and smoking) and this is the gentleman what I 
made ! The real genuine one ! It does me good tur to 

^r&Sar) Handel, my dear fellow. {Mag. 
draws a large clasp-knife, and retires up l.) 

Pip. Quiet ! It's Herbert. 

Enter Herbert l. 

Herb Handel, old fellow, how are you, and again 
how are you, and again how are you! I seem to have 
been gone a twelve month ! Why ! so I must have been, 
for you seem to have grown quite thin and pale ! Uandei, 

my Halloo ! I beg your pardon. {Discovers Mag. 

who has been regarding them attentivelg, while putting 



Q 



4 



c iway his jack-knife, and groping in his pockets for the 
greasy little black testament.) 

Pip. Herbert, my dear friend, something very strange 
lias happened. This is a visitor of mine. 

Mag. {Corning for (card) Id's all right, dear boy. 
Take it (the testament) in yonr right hand. Lord strike 
you dead on tlie spot, if ever you split in any w: y sum- 
ever. Kiss it. 

Pip. Do so, as he wishes it. (Herbert in amazement 
complies.) 

Mag. (Shaking hands vrith Herbert) Now, you're 
on your oath, you know. And never believe me on mine 
if Pip shan't make a gentleman on you ! 

Pip. Dear Herbert ! You remember the story of the 
strange encounter I had when a boy, with the convicts on 
the marshes. He was transported to New Soutn Wales, 
where by persevering effort and toil he accumulated a 
fortune, with no other purpose in view, than to make a 
gentleman of me. At the risk of his life he has returned 
here to witness the realization of my great expectations. 
Common gratitude demands that his safety shouid be our 
first consideration, and to ensure it and act intelligently, 
it is necessary that we shouid know something of his life. 

Herb. It is absolutely necessary. 

Mag. Well, you're on your oath, you know, Pip's 
comrade ? 

Herb . Assuredly. 

Mag. As to any thing I say, you know, the oath ap- 
plies to all. 

Herb, I understand it to do so. 

Mag. And look' er here ! Wotever I done, is worked 
out and paid for. 

Herb. So be it. 

Mag. Well then, dear boy, and Pip's comrade. I am 
not agoing fur to tell you my life, like a song or a story 
book. But to give it you short and handy, I'll jDut it at once 
into a mouthful of english. In jail and out of jail, in jail 
and out of jail, in jail and out of jail. There, you've got 
it. That's my life pretty much, down to such times as I 
got shipped off, arter Pip stood my friend. I've been 
done every thing to pretty well — except hanged. I've 
been locked up as much as a silver tea-kittle. I've been 
carted here and carted there, and put out of this town 
and put out of that town, and stuck in the stocks, and 
whipped and worried and drove, I got the name of being 



35 



hardened "This is a terrible hardened one" they says to 
prison wisitors, picking out me. "May be sai I tc . rye m 
Lis" Then the 7 looked at me, and 1 looked at them 
and they measured my head., some ov'em, and others on- 
om St me tracts, what 1 couldn't read, and made me 
speeches what X couldn't understand. The. always went 
on Leu me about the devil, as though 1 was sponsible 
for him Then when out of jail to put something in my 
stomac'i. 1 was tramping, begging, thieving, working 
sometimes, though that waru't as often as you may think, 
tul you put the que tion whether you would have been 
overready to give me work yourselves - a bit of a 
poacher, a bit of a laborer, a bit of a wagoner, a bit ol a 
hay maker, a bit of a hawker, a bit of a most things that 
don't pay and lead to trouble. And so i was took up 
took up, took up, to that extent that X reglarly growed 
no took up, till X got to be a man. Twenty years ago X 
got, acquain'ted wi' a man whose skull Id crack wi this 
f oker like the claw of a lobster, it 1 had him here. His 
Sght name was Compeyson, and that's the man dear 
boy, what wos took with me on the meshes. He set up 
foi a gentleman, this Compeyson, and lmd been to a pub- 
ic boarding school, and trad learning. He was a smooth 
cne to talkT and was a dab at the ways of gentlefolks, and 
he was good looking too, Shortly after, Compeyson took 
me on to be his man and pardner. And what was Com- 
pevson's business in which we was to go pardners i Com- 
Devson's business was the swindling, handwriting, forging, 
stolen banknote passing, and such-like. All sorts of traps 
as Compeyson could set with his head, and keep his own 
legs out of and get the profits from and let another man 
in for, was Compeyson's business. He'd no more W 
than a iron file, he was as cold as death, and he had the 
head of the devil afore mentioned. 

There was another in with Compeyson as was called 
Arthur Havisham. He was in a decline, and was a shadow 
to look at. Him and Compeyson had been in a bad thing 
with a rich lady — a half sister of his — some years afo-e, 
Ind they'd made a pot of money by it but Compey.on had 
betted and gamed it away. So, Arthur was a-dynig, and 
a-dying poo?, and with the horrors on him, and Compey- 
son's wife - which Compeyson kicked mostly - was a- 
fiaving pity on him, when she could, and Compeyson was 
a-Kg pity on nothing and nobody. The second or 
third tim! as I ever see Arthur, he come a tearing down 



n 



3G 

into Com person's parlor late at night, in only a flannel 
gown, with his hair all in a sweat, and he sa s to lom- 
peyson s will : "Sally, she really is up stairs alonger me, 
now, and I ean't get rid other — she s all in white, wi' 
white flowers in her hair, and she's got a shroud hangirg 
over her arm, and she says shell put it on me at five in 
the morning." Says Com),eysor, why, you fool, don't 
; on know she's got a living body ? And how could she 
he up there, without coining through the door and up 
stairs. Compeyson s wife being use to him, give him 
some liquor to get the horrors off, and he rested pretty 
quiet till it might want a few miuutes of five, and then he 
starts up with a scream, heie she is ! she's got the shroud 
again. She s unfolding it She's coming out of the cor- 
ner. Look at her eyes. Ain't it awful to see her so mad. 
She's coming to the bed. Take it away from her — don't 
let her touch me with it. Hah ! she missed me that 
time. Don't let her throw it over my shoulders. Don't 
let her lift me up te get it around me She's lifting me 
up. Keep me down. Then he lifted himself up hard, 
and — was dead. 

Not to go into the things that Compeyson planned 
and I done, which 'nd take a week — 111 simply say 
to you, dear boy, and Pip's comrade, that that man 
got me into such nets as made me his black slave. I 
was always in debt to him, always under his thumb, 
always a working, always a getting into danger. He 
was younger than me, but he d got craft, and he'd got 
learning, and he overmatched me five hundred times 
told, and no mercy. My Missis as I had the hard times 
wi' — stop though ! I ain't brought her in — {Looks 
about him in & cor- fused way.) There ain t no need to go 
into it. At 1 st me and Compeyson w.s both commit- 
ted for felony — on a charge of putting stolen notes 
in circul tion. When we wis put in the dock, I no- 
ticed, first of all, what a gentleman Compeyson looked, 
wi' his curly hir and his bl ck clothes, and his white 
pocket-handkercher, * nd what a common sort of a wretch 
1 looked. When the evidence was giv* in the box, I 
noticed how heavy it all bore on me, r.nd how light on 
him ; how it Was always me that had come for'ard and 
could be swore to; how it was always )m th.t the mo- 
ney had boon paid to: how it w s always me that had 
seemed to work the thing and get the profit. And when 
it come to character, wam't it Compeyson ts had been 



o 



7 



know'd by witnesses in such clubs and societies and nowt 
to his disadvantage. And when it came to speech-mak- 
ing, warn't it Compeyson as could speak to 'em wi' his 
face dropping every now and then into his white pocket- 
hand kercher — ah! and wi' verses in his speech, too — 
and warn't it me as could only say, Gentlemen, this man 
at my side is a most precious rascal. And when the ver- 
dict come, warn't it Compeyson as was recommended to 
mercy on account of good character and bad company, 
and giving up all information he could agen me. And 
when I seys to Compeyson, once out of this court, I'll 
smash that face of yourn. Ain't it Compeyson as prays 
the judge to be protected. And when we're sentenced, 
ain't it him as gets seven year, and me fourteen, and ain't 
it him as the judge is sorry for, he might a done so well. 
I had said to Compeyson that I would smash that face of 
his, but I did not get the chance, till the time we were 
took back to the prison ship from the meshes. Of course 
he'd much the best of it to the last — his character was 
so good and his punishment was light. I was put in 
irons and brought to trial again and sent for life. I didn't 
stop for life, dear boy, and Pip's comrade, being here. 
[Fills his pipe and begins to smoke.) 

Pip. Is he dead ? 

Mag. Is who dead, dear boy ? 

Pip. Compeyson. 

Mag. He hopes I am, if he's alive, you may be sure. 
I never heard no more of him. Now dear boy, and Pip's 
comrade, if you will show me where I am to sleep, I am 
ready to go. Good night, dear boy. ( Taking him by both 
hands and dandling them up and down) And this is the 
gentleman what I made ! The real genuine one ! It 
does me good fur to look at you, Pip. All I stipulate is 
to stand by and look at you, dear boy ! ( Takes out 
pocket-book and throws it on the table. ) There's some- 
thing worth spending in that there book. It's yourn. 
All I've got ain't mine ; it's yourn. I've come to the old 
country fur to see my gentleman spend his money like a 
gentleman. That 11 be my pleasure. And blast you all, 
from the judge in his wig, to the colonist a-stirring up 
the dust, I'll show a better gentleman than the whole kit 
on you put together. (Looking around the room and 
snapping his fingers.) I am with you Pip's comrade. 
(Exeunt Herbert and Mag witch k.) 



38 

Pip. Was there ever such a fate as mine. Miss 
Havishanis intentions towards me, ail a mere dream ; 
Estella not designed for me ; I only suffere lin her house 
as a convenience, a Suing for the greedy relations, a model 
for a mechanical heart to practice on wnen iu otner prac- 
tice was at hand. But, sharpest pain of ail, this c jnviet 
guilty of I know not what crimes, the instrument that 
turned me from the forge and those who loved me best. 
What, am I to do. 

Re-enter Herbert k. 

My dear Herbert, something must be done. This poor 
wretch, is intent upon lavish appearances of all kinds. 
He must be stopped somehow. 

Herb. You mean that you can't accept 

Pip. How can I ? Think of him ? Look at him ? 
Yet I am afraid the dreadful truth is, that he is strongly 
attached to me. .Then after all, stopping short here, 
never taking another penny from him, think what I owe 
him already ! I am now heavily in debt — very heavily 
for me, who have now no expectations. 

Herb. Handel, you feel convinced that you can take 
no further benefits from him, do you ? 

Pip. Fully. Surely you would too, if you were in 
my place. 

Herb. And you have, and are bound to have, that ten 
derness for the life he has risked on your account, that 
you must save him, if possible, from throwing it away. 

Pip. Surely, Herbert. 

Herb. Then my dear Handel you must get him out of 
England before you stir a finger to extricate yourself. 
That done extricate yourself in heaven's name and we'll 
see it out together, dear old boy. (They shake hands.) 
By the way, Handel, as I came in at the gate, the watch 
man handed me this note to give you saying, that it was 
handed to him to deliver. Good night, old boy, I'm 
nearly dead for sleep. 

Pip. Good night, my dear friend. Can the (Exit r.) 
man Compeyson be already on his track. No, impossible. 
( Opens note and reads) "If you are not afraid to come 
to the old marshes to-morrow night at nine, and to come 
to the little sluice-house by the limekiln, you had better 
come if you want information regarding your guest 
Provis ; you had much better come and tell no one, and 
lo&e no time. You must come alone. Bring this with 



39 

vou " What can this mean, information concerning Pro- 
Vis.' Tell no one. Surely some friendly hand has writ- 
tea it, or why the injunction for secrecy i .111 go. {(roes 
to table arid write. In putting the note m his pocket 
drops on the floor.) This will tell Herbert whit to d» 
during my brief absence. {Exit b. ) 

END OF ACT III. . 



o 



ACT IV. 

^CENE I— Miss Havisham's. 3Iiss R. & Estella cits- 
' covered; the first seated near the fire and watching 
Estella knitting on cushion at her fleet. 
Enter Pip l. 

Miss H. And what wind blows you here, Pip ? 
Pin Miss Havisham, I went to Richmond yesterday, 
to speak to Estella, and finding that some wind had blown 
her here, I followed. {Miss Havisham hacmg moUoned 
him to be seated, he takes seat at table.) What I h,d to 
say to Estella, Miss Havisham, I will say before you pre- 
sently It will not surprise, it will not displease you. 1 
am as unhappy as ever you can have meant me to be. 
(Miss H. looks steadily at him ; Estella appears inter- 
ested but does not look up.) I have found out who my 
natron is It is not a fortunate discovery, and is not likely 
to enrich me in reputation, station, fortune, anything. 
There are reasons why I must say no more of that, it is 
not mv secret, but another's. . 

Miss H. It is not your secret, but another s. VV ell . 
Pit) When you first caused me to be brought here. 
Miss Havisham ; when I belonged to the village over 
yonder, that I wish I had never left; I suppose I did 
really come here, as any chance boy might have corne- 
as a kind of servant, to gratify a want or a whim, and to 
be paid for it ? 

MissH. Ay, Pip, you did. 

Pip. And that Mr. Jaggers — — ..,.*.- , 

Miss H. Mr Jaggers had nothing to do with it, and 
knows nothing of it. His being my lawyer, and his being 
the lawyer of your patron, is a coincidence. 



40 

Pip. But when I fell into the mistake I have so long 
remained in, at least you led me on ? 

Miss II. Yes, I let you go on. 

Pip. Was that kind? 

Miss II {Flashing into wrath and striking her stick 
on the floor) Who am I ? Who am I, for mercy's sake, 
that I should be kind 1 

Pip. It is a weak complaint to make, Miss Havisham, 
and 1 did not mean to make it. 

Miss H. Well, well, well ! What else? 

Pip. I was liberally paid for my old attendance here, 
in being apprenticed, and I have asked these questions 
only for my own information. In humoring my mistake, 
Miss H visham, you punished — practiced on — perhaps 
you will supply whatever term expresses your intention, 
without offence — your self-seeking relations ? 

Miss. II. 1 did. Why, they would have it so ! So 
would you ! What has been my history, th .t I should be 
at the pains of entreating either them or you not to have 
it so ? You made your own snares. I never made them. 

Pip. There is one family of your relations. Miss 
Havisham, that you deeply wrong, both Mr. Matthew 
Pocket and his son Herbert, if you suppose them to other- 
wise than generous, upright, open, and incapable of any 
thing mean or designing. 

Miss H. What do you want for them ? 

Pip. Only, that you would not confound them with 
Sarah Pocket, Mistress Camilla and the others. They 
may be of the same blood, but, believe me, they are not 
of the same nature. 

Miss U. What do you want for them ? 

Pip. Miss Havisham, if you could spare the money 
to do my friend Herbert a lasting service in life, but 
which from the nature of the case must be done without 
his knowledge. I could show you how. 

Miss II. Why must it be done without his knowledge ? 

Pip. Because, I began the service myself, more than 
two years ago, without his knowledge, and I don't want 
to be betrayed. Why I fail in my ability to finish it, I 
can not explain. It is a part of the secret which is ano- 
ther person's, and not mine. 

J/z.s.s' If. What else ? 

Pip. (It a broken voice) Estella, (who is still knit- 
ting) you know I love you. You know that I have 
loved you long and dearly. (Miss II glance* from one 



41 



tn the of her ) I should have said this sooner but for my 
it mistake It induced me to hope that Miss Havis 

ewT S mce I first saw you in this honse. . 

SS It seem that there are sentiments, fancies - 

I don't care for what you say at all. 1 nave triea to 
warn you of this ; now have I not. 

S ll" Yes. But you would -t ^e waimed for you 
thonfflit I did not mean it. Now, did you not thin* so 

A> I thought and hoped you could not .mean it. 
You^so young, imtried, and beautiful, Estella ! Surely it 

18 5S in St in my nature. It is in the nature formed 
Jun i I makl a great difference between you and 
ill other people when 1 say so much. I can do no moi e 

Pip Is it not true, that Bentley Drummle is m town 
here, and pursuing you ? 

% ThKu encourage him, and ride out with him, 
and that he dines with you this very day t 

Est. (A little surprised) Quite true. 

Pin You can not love him, Estella ! 

P £. (Bather angrily- -stops knitUng) ™^ave 
I told you? Do you still think, m spite of it, tha. 1 do 

not mean what I say 1 r,,-,,, 

P,v You would never marry him, Estella '■ 
F Z (Pooling towards Miss HI) Why not tell you 

+i^ +^-.4-Vi ? T am P-oin^ to be married to rnm. 

%t ^' Marr; hnn! Estella, dearest dearest Estella, 

donoUetMissHavisham lead you into this fatal step. 

P« me wide forever - you have done so, I well know - 

^B^tA^j^i cry 5 



42 

so long as I. Take him, and I can bear it better for your 
sake ! 

Est I am going to be married to him. The prepara- 
tions for my marriage are making, and I shall be married 
soon. Why do yon injuriously introduce the name of 
my mother by adoj)tion ? It is my own act. 

Pip. Your own act, Estella, to fling yourself away 
upon a brute ? 

Est. On whom should I fling myself away % Should 
I fling myself away upon the man wno would the soonest 
feel -if people do feel Isuch things- that I took nothing to 
him ? There ! It is done. I shall do well enough, 
and so will my husband. As to leading me into wnat 
you call this fatal step, Miss Havisham would have had 
me wait, and not marry yet ; but I am tired of the life I 
have led, which has very few charms for me, and I am 
willing enough to change it. Say no more. We shall 
never understand each other. 

Pip. Such a mean brute, such a stupid brute ! 

Est. Don't be afraid of my being a blessing to him ; 
I shall not be that. Come! Here is my hand. Do we 
part on this, you visionary boy — or man ? 

Pip. Oh, Estella, even if I remained in England and 
could hold my head up with the rest, how could I see 
you Drummle's wife % 

Est. Nonsense, nonsense ! This will pass in no time. 

Pip. Never, Estella! 

Est. You will get me out of your thoughts in a week. 

Pip. Out of my thoughts ! You are part of my ex- 
istence, part of myself. You have been in every line I 
have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common 
boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You 
have been in every prospect I have ever soen since — on 
the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in 
the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in 
the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the 
embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has 
ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the 
strongest London buildings are made are not more real, 
or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than 
your presence and influence have been to me, there and 
everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my 
life you can not choose but remain part of my character, 
part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But in this 
separation I associate you only with the good, and I will 



43 

faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done 
me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp 
distress f may. Oh, God bless you, God forgive you ! 
(Holds her hand t > his lips for a second, drops it end 
rushes off left. LJstella regards him with Incredulous 
wonder, and Miss LTavlsham with her hand still on her 
heart, totters to the right, regards him with a ghastly and 
intense stare of pity and remorse.) 

SCENE II. — Interior of the old /Sluice House at the 
Lime Kilns. Window l. c. and door r. c. in flat. 
A deal table and wooden bench r h. Truckle 
bedstead and niattrass l.h. Lighted candle 
on table. A ladder fastened perpendicu- 
larly to vying, leading up to a loft. 
Lights down. Loud knock at door. 
Enter Pip door in flat. 

Pip. (At foot of ladder looking up> .) Is there any 
one here % [looks at his. watch) Is there any one here i 
(goes to table and picks up> candle and as he is going 
towards ladder, Orlick comes forward from concealment 
and throws a running noose over Pip's head from behu nd 
the candle is extinguished, and the noose tightened.) 

Orlick. By all that's foul I have you, now. 

Pip. [Struggling) What is this '( Who is it % Help, 
help, help ! 

Orlick, ( While securing Pip to the ladder) Call out 
again, and 111 make short work of you. {Picks up candle, 
deliberately strikes a light and places it on th-t table and 
takes a seat on bench at same, facing Pip.) I've 
got you ! 

Pip. Unbind me. Let me go ! 

Orlick. Ah ! Ill let you go. Til let you go to the 
moon. I'll let you go to the stars. 

Pip. W^hy have you lured me here ? 

Orl. Don't you know ? 

Pip. Why have you set upon me in the dark '( 

Orl. Because I mean to do it all myself. One keeps 
a secret better than two. Oh, you enemy, you enemy ! 
You cost me that place at Miss Havisham's. You did. 
Speak ! 

Pip. What else could I do ? 

Orl. You did that, and that would be enough without 
more. How dared you come betwixt me and the young- 
worn n Biddy, whr:n I liked? 



44 

Pip. When did I ? 

OrL When didn't you 1 It was you as alw ys give 
old Orlick a bl d name to her. 

Pip. You gave it to yourself; you gained it for your- 
self. 1 could have done you no harm, if you had done 
yourself none. 

Ort You're a liar. And .you'll take any pains, and 
spend any money, to drive me out of this country, will 
you ? It was never so worth your while to get me out of 
this country, as it is to-night. 

.Pip. Y\ hat are you going to do to me ? 

Or I. I'm going {bringing his fist down, and rising 
tilth the How, to give it greater force) I'm agoing to 
have your life ! You was always in old Orlick's way 
since ever you was a child. You goes out of his way 
this present night. He 11 have no more on you. You're 
de d. More than that, [folding his arms on the table) 
I won't have a rag of you, I won't have a bone of you, 
left on earth. Ill put your body in the kiln, and let 
people suppose what they may of you, they shall never 
know nothing. Now, wolf, afore I kill you like any other 
beast — which is wot I mean to do, and wot I have tied 
you up for — I'll have a good look at you, and a good 
goad at you. Oh, you enemy ! ( Takes a drink from the 
tin bottle slung around his neek.) Wolf ! (folding his 
arms again.) Old Orlick's going to tell you somethink. 
It'wos you as did for your shrew sister. 

Pip. It was you, villain, 

Orl. 1 tell you it was your doing. I come upon her 
from behind, as I come upon you to night. Zgiv' it her ! 
I left her for dead, and had there been a limekiln as 
nigh her ss there is now nigh you, she shouldn't have 
come to life again. But it warn't old Orlick as did it; 
it was you. You was favored, and he was bullied and 
beat, eh? Now you pays for it, You done it; now 
you pays for it. (Drinks again, becoming more fero- 
cious. Jiises, jjushes the table aside, takes the candle, 
goes to Pip, and shading the candle icith his hand, 
throws the light into his face.) 1 11 tell you something 
more, wolf. Pve took up with new companions and 
now masters. Some of 'em writes my letters when I 
wants 'em writ — do you mind ? — writes my let- 
tors, wolf I They writes fifty hands ; they're not like 
sneaking you as writes but one. 7've had firm mind to 
have your life, since you was down here to your sister's 



• 45 

tfurving. I han't seen a way to get you safe, and I've 
looked arter you to know your ins and outs What, when 
I looks for you. I finds your uncle Provis, eh J You with 
a unc ! e too ! Why, I knowed you at Gargery s when you 
was so small a wolf that I could have took your weazen 
betwixt this finger and thumb and chucked you away 
dead You hadn't no uncles then, no, not you ! But 
when old Orlick comes for to hear that your uncle Provis 
had most like wore the leg iron wot old Orlick had picked 
up on these meshes ever so many years ago, and wot he 
kep by him till he dropped your sister with it, like a bul- 
lock, as he means to drop you - hey ? {flares the candle 
dose to Pip's face, who turns his head aside) Ah! [re- 
peats business and laughs) the burned child dreads the 
tire ' Old Orlick knowed you was a smuggling your uncle 
Provis away. Old Orlicks a match for you, and know d 
you'd come to night! There's them that's as good a 
match for your uncle Provis as old Orlick has been lor 
you Let him 'ware them when he's lost his nevvy. 
Let him 'ware them, when no man can't find a rag 
of his dear relation's clothes, nor yet a bone of his body. 
There's them that can't and that won't have Magwitch — 
ves I know the name ! — alive in the same land with 
them, and that's had such sure information of him when 
he was alive in another land, as that he couldn t and 
shouldn't leave it unbeknown and put them in danger 
Pr'aps it's them that writes fifty hands, and that s not 
like sneaking you as writes but one. 'Ware Compeyson 
and the gallows, uncle Provis! (Flares the candle in 
Pips face again, and replaces it on the table, lakes 
the cork out >f bottle and throws it away; drains the 
bottle, pours the last few drops into his hand and_ licks 
them up, throwing the bottle away; Pip watches him in- 
tently as he runs to a corner and picks up a stone 

h ft 1 )!! 'YVt PI* i 

Pip {Struggling and shouting) Help, help, help. 
( faints ) ( Voices back o^fiat. We eome, toe come, we come. ) 

' Orlick. By all that's foul {Picks up the hammer 

and rushes part of the icay towards Pip, when the voices 
arrest his attention , drops hammer, and proceeds towards 
the door, which is throicn open, when in rush Herbert, 
Wopsle and Hubbel, the last two endeavor to intercept 
Orlick, who throios them off and escapes out of the door.) 

Herbert. {Releases Pip and conveys him to the bench) 
I think he's all right. ( Wopsle and Hubble come forward) 



46 •« 

hJfyi?' t? Tf, th ? com P anio11 of the man who sat 
behind Mr. Pip at the theatre the night I played the en- 
chanter, in the pantomime. 

Pip. (Reviving) Herbert, great heaven ! 

Herb. Softly, gently Handel, don't be too eaeer 

Pip. And Mr. Wopsle, Mr. Hubbal. 

Herb. Yes, they are here at my request. 

Pip The time has not gone by, Herbert, has it ? 

ni ht tlme has not gone by ' Ifc is stm Monia y 

Pip. Thanks, thanks. 

Herb. And you have all day to morrow to rest in 
tfutyou cant help groaning, my dear Handel. What 
hurt have you got 1 Can you stand 1 

^fu r!? S ' yes - Icail walk. I have no hurt, but in 
this throbbing arm. 

Herb. Then let us proceed to the town at once, and 
alter your arm is dressed, we will return to ni°-ht to Lon- 
don. (Exeunt. Door in flat.) 

SCENE HI.— Miss Havisham s apartment as before 
Miss Havisham discovered seated in a ragged chair 
on the hearth, close before and lost in con- 
templation of the ashy flre. Enter Pip L . 
and goes to old chimney-piece. 

Is H r S ?? ^ Sl0Wly raisin 9 her eyes and staring at Pip. ) 

mJiifi, ^v* }'~ ? ip ' Mr ' Ja ogers gave me your note, 
and I have lost no time. 

, f lSS £- T Thank yOU - Tnank y° u - (&P brings chair 
to hearth) I want, (with expression as if she was afraid 
of him) to pursue that subject you mentioned to me 
when you were last nere, and to show you that I am not 
an stone. But perhaps you can never believe, now, that 
there is anything human in my heart. You said, speak- 
ing of your friend, that you could tell me how to do some- 
thing useful and good, something that you would like 
done, is it not '? 

imu-lf' S ° mefchin S that I would l^e done very, very 

Miss H. What is it. 

\J'! P \ / ] S Ve , ad 7 ancea m oney towards purchasing an 
interest for Herbert without his knowledge in the busi- 
ness m winch he is engaged, and - 



47 



Miss II {Pause) Do you break off, because you 
hate me too much to bear to speak to mej 

F lp. No, no, how can you think so, Mtss H^ isbam . 
I stopped because I thought you were not following what 



Miss H Perhaps I was not. ( Putting hand to her 
head) Begin again, and let me look at something else 
Stay now tell me. (Sets her hand upon her sUck, and 
til's ot the fire, 'with an expression of forcing herself to 

aU( r't } I had hoped to complete the transaction out of 
my own means, but in this I am prevented by circum- 
stances that I am not at liberty y explain, lor they are 
the weiffhtv secrets of another. . 

Miss It: So ! And how much money is wanting to 
complete the purchase ? 

Pip Quite a large sum, nine hundred pounds. 
Miss II If 1 g^e you the money for this purpose, 
will you keep my secret as you. have kept your own t 
Pip Quite as faithfully. 

Miss H. And your mind will be more at rest . 
Pip. Much more at rest. 
Miss II Are you very unhappy now ' 
Pip I am far from happy, Miss Havisham ; but I 
have other causes of disquiet than any you know of. Ihey 
are the secrets I have mentioned. 

Miss H. Tis noble in you to tell me that you have 
other causes of unhappiness Is it true ? 
Pip. Too true. •; 

JfL ^ Can I only serve you, Pip, by serving your 
friend 1 Regarding that as done, is there nothing I can do 

tor you y°^. ' j thank you for the ques tion. I thank 
you even more for the tone of the question. But there is 

n0t M Sf II ( Taking tablets from her pocket and writing ) 
You are still on friendly terms with Mr. Jaggers i 

Pin Quite. I dined with him yesterday. 

Miss H. This is an authority to him to pay you that 
money, to lay out at your irresponsible discretion for 
your fi'iend. ( Giving him tablets ) 

Pin Thank you, Miss Havisham. 

Mis'sH. My name is on the first leaf. If you can ever 
write under my name, "I forgive her" though ever so long 
after mv broken heart is dust — pray do it ! 



^8 

Pip. Oh, Miss Havish . m, I can do it now. There 
have been sore mistakes ; and my life has been a blind 
and thankless one ; and i want forgiveness and direction 
for too much to be bitter with you. [Miss II turns her 
.face towards him for the first time, and dreps on her 
tntetatAu feet, her hands folded and raised I Miss 
Uavisham, 1 enfeatyou to rise. [Endeavors to ratie her , 
Mtst 11 [Despairingly] Oh ! What h. ve I done ! 
\\ hat have I done ! 

Pip. If you mean, Miss Havisham, wh t have you 
done to injure me, let me answer, very little. I should 
have loved her under any circumstances. She is married * 
Miss 11. Yes, what h ve I done ! What have I done ! 
[wrings her hands and crushes her hair] W hat h ve I 
done ! Until you spoke to her in my presence, and until 
l saw in you a looking glass th t showed me what I once 
felt myself, j. did not know what I had done. What have I 
done ! What have I done ! 

-Pip. Miss Havisham, you may dismiss me from your 
mind and conscience. But Estella is a different case, and 
it you can ever undo any scrap of what tou have done 
amiss in keeping a part of her right nature away from 
her, it will be better to do that than to bemoan the past 
through a hundred years. 

Miss H. Yes, yes, I know it. But, Pip — my dear ' 
believe this ; when she first came to me, I meant to save 
her from misery like my own. At first I meant no 
more. 

Pip. Well, well, I hope so. 

Miss II. But as she grew and promised to be very 
beautiful, I gradually did worse, and with my praises, and 
with my jewels, and with my teachings, and with this 
figure of myself always before her, a warning to back and 
point my lessons, I stole her heart away and put ice in 
its place. 

Pip. Better, to have left her a natural heart, even to 
be bruised or broken. 

Miss II. [Distractedly] What have I done ! — If 
you knew all my story, you would have some compassion 
for me and a better understanding of me. [Sink* to the 
Jtoor with her arms resting on a chair and her head in 
In r arms ] 

Pip. Miss Havisham, I believe I may say that I know 
.your story How you became the prey of the wily and 
designing Compeyson, who in conjunction with your half 



49 

brother, Arthur Havisham, squandered a large share of 
your patrimony ; how passionately you loved the man 
Oompeyson. How the wedding was fixed, the wedding 
drases bought, the wedding tour planned, and the wed- 
ding guests invited; how the day came, but not the 
bridegroom ; how a letter was received at twenty minutes 
to nine ; the clocks stopped, and the place going to waste 
and ruin ever since. All this, I have known since I first 
left this neighborhood. It has inspired me with great 
commiseration, and I hope I understand it and its in- 
fluences. Does what has passed between us give me any 
excuse for asking you a question relative to Estella J Not 
as she is, but as she was when she first came here? 
Miss II (Raises her head and looks at him) Go on. 
Pip Whose child was Estella ? (Shakes her head) 
You don't know ? But Mr. Jaggers brought her here, or 
sent her here ? 

Miss H. Brought her here. 
Pip. Will you tell me how that came about ? 
Miss II ( Whispering) I had been shut up in these 
rooms a long time — I don't know how long ; you know 
what time the clocks keep here — when I told Mr. Jag 
gers that I wanted a little girl to rear and love, and save 
irom my fate. He told me that he would look about him 
for such an orphan child. One night he brought her here 
asleep, and I called her Estella. 
Pip. Might I ask her age then % 

Miss H. Two or three. She herself knows nothing, 
but that she was left an Orphan and I adopted her. But 
dear Pip, I know full well, that I have done a grevious 
wrong, in taking an impressionable child and moulding 
her into the form, that my wild resentment spurned af- 
fection, and wounded pride found vengeance in ; that, in 
shutting out the light of day, I shut out infinitely more ; 
that, in my seclusion, I have secluded myself from a 
thousand natural and healing influences ; that, my mmd, 
brooding solitary, has grown diseased, as all minds must 
and will that reverse the appointed order of their maker. 
My punishment now is in the realization of this, and in 
the ruin and disorder that surround me, to which the 
anguish of your last interview with Estella awakened me ; 
and although it is too late to repair the errors of the past, 
let me show you that I have endeavered to make some 
atonement to Estella for the wrongs I have done her. 
Wait, until I return. (J Mires into the inner room.) 



50 

Pip. Who could look upon this wreck and ruin with- 
out compassion ? {Screams, and a blaze of light fr mi the 
inner room. Pip rushes up stage) Oh horrors ! Miss 
Havisham in flames. (Bushes off left and returns, hear- 
ing Miss Havisham in his arms, wrapped in blanket and 
double-caped great coat, and lays her on sofa with face to 
audience. ) 

Enter Sarah .Pocket in alarm l. 

Sarah. Oh dear ! Oh dear ! What has happened ? 

Pip. Help me to restore her to consciousness. ( They 
administer attentions and Miss II gradually revives.) ' 

Miss II What have I done ! When she first came, 

I meant to save her from misery like mine — Take the 

pencil and write under my name, I forgive her There ! 

there ! {pointing to the long table) lay me there — Mat- 
thew will come and see me when I am laid on that table — 

they will all come and see me there, when I am dead 

what have I done — take the pencil and write, I forgras 
her. (Sicoons.) 

SCENE IV.— Interior of Tavern near Gravesend. Enter 
Pip and Herbert r. supporting Magwitch, and fol- 
lowed by officer. 

Pip. May I have permission to dress the prisoner's 
injuries, and change his wet clothes, if I can purciiabe 
any spare garments in this vicinity ? 

Officer. Certainly, but I must take charge of every- 
thing about the prisoner. ( Takes pocket-book from Mag- 
witch [s pocket) You have permission to accompany the 
prisoner to London, but I cannot accord the priviliffe to 
your friends. 

^ Pip Thank you, they will return by land. (Exit of- 
ficer) Your breathing is painful and your injuries must 
be severe. 

Mag. Yes — dear boy — I must have gone — under 
— the keel — of the — steamer, and have been struck — 
on the — head — in rising, — and the injury — to my 
chest — I must have — received against — the side of — 
the galley. 

Herbert. What became of the man Compeyson, who 
attempted to arrest you ? 

Mag. I do not pretend — to say — what I might — 
or might not have done — to Compeyson, but when the 



Oi 



villain — laid hands on me, we clasped and fiercely — 
lucked in each others arms — we went overboard toge- 
ther ; there was a struggle — under water — but he dis- 
engaged — himself— struck out — and swum away. ±i 
he did not come up again as I did, he s drowned. 

Pip. How grieved I am to think that you came home 

for my sake. 

Mag\ Dear boy, I'm quite content to take my chance. 
I've seen my boy, and he can be a gentleman without me. 
Looker here, dear boy, It's best us a gentleman should 
not be knowed to belong to me now. Only come to see 
me as if you come by chance alonger Wemmick. Sit 
where I can see you when I'm swore to, fur the last o 
many times, and I don't ask no more. 

Pip I will never stir from your side, when I am suf- 
fered to be near you. Please God, 1 will be as true to 
you as vou have been to me. 

Mag Thank'er, dear boy, thank'er. God bless you I 
dear boy. And wnat's the best of all, you've been more 
comfortable alonger me, now that I am under a dark cloud, 
than when the sun shone. That's best of all. (Shows 
signs of pain.) > 

Pip. Are you in much pam now: 

Mag I don't complain of none, dear boy. 

Herb. You never do compLin. 

Pip. Dear Magwitch, I must tell you, now at last, 

you had a wife ? . 

Mag Yes, dear boy. I had great trouble with my 
missus, she was tried for murder. Mr. Jaggers got h^r clear. 

Pip. Dou you know that she lives 'i 

Mag. I don't know it, but have thought that she did. 

Pip. Mr. Jaggers took her in charge after her acquit- 
tal, and tamed her. She is now his housekeeper. Mr. 
Wemmick has told me her history. 

Mag. God forgive her if she still lives. In a fit oi 
jealousy and revenge she swore that she would destroy 
our only child, and as the child disappeared, 1 suppose 
she carried out her threat, for she would stop at nothing 
when her gypsy blood was up ; thus I lost the child and 
the child's mother. When I first met you in the &i\ ve- 
yard, you brought to mind the lost child, and took her 
place in my heart. . \ . . 

Pip. The child lived and found poweiful iriends. 
She is living now. She is a lady and very beautiful. 
Her name is Estella, and I love her. 



52 

Mag. Love her ! Love her ! And in her, love me dear 
boy, when I'm gone. 

END OF ACT IV. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. v — Coffee room in the Blue Boar. Joe 
and Pip discovered seated at table. 

Pip. Yes, dear Joe., eleven years have glided by since 
1 saw you and Biddy joined in marriage. Within two 
months after quitting England I was clerk to Clarriker 
<fc Co. The company being my dear friend Herbert. 
Many a year went round before I was a partner in the 
house, and I lived happily and frugally with Herbert and 
his wife in the meantime. We were not in a grand way 
of business, but we had a good mme, and worked for our 
profits and did very well. And now dear old fellow r , tell 
me some of the changes that have taken place during the 
long period I have been away. Miss Havisham did not 
recover ? 

Joe. Why, you see, old chap, I wouldn't go sr far as 

to s y that, for that s a deal to say ; but she ain't 

Pip. Living, Joe ? 

Joe. That's nio her where it is, she ain't living. 
Pip. Did she linger long, Joe ? 

Joe. Arter you went away, it w 7 as pretty much about 
what you might call v — if you was put to it — 'a week. 
Pip. Wijat became of her property ? 
Joe. Well, old chap, it do appear that she had settled 
the most of it, which 1 meantersay tied it up, on Miss 
Estella. But she had wrote out a little coddleshell in her 
own hand a day or two afore the accident, leaving a cool 
four thousand to Mr. Mattew Pocket. And why do you 
suppose above all things, Pip ! She left that cool four 
thousand unto him ? Because of Pip's account of him the 
said Matthew. I am told by Biddy, that air the writing, 
account of the said Matthew, and a cool lour thousand, Pip. 
I'tp. Did you hear if any of the other relations had 
legacies \ 



Joe. Miss Sarah Pocket, she have twenty-five pound 
perannium fur to buy pill&, on account of being bilious. 
Miss Georgiana, she have twenty pound down. Mrs. 

What's the name of them wild beasts wdth humps, 

old chap % 

Pip. Camels % 

Joe. (Nods) Mrs. Camels 

Pip. Mrs. Camilla. 

Joe. Yes, she nave five pound fur to buy rush-lights 
to put her in spirits when sue wake up in the night. 

Ftp. Weil, what else, Joe ? 

Joe. Old Oriick, he busted open a dwelling-ouse. 

Pip. Whose '( 

Joe. Not, I grant you, but what his manners is given 
to blusterous, still a Englishman's ouse is his Castle, and 
castles must not be busted 'cept when done in war time. 
And wotsume'er the failings on his part, he were a corn 
and seedsman in his hart. 

Pip. Was it Pumlechook's house that was broken 
into, then ? 

Joe. Which it were, Pip, and they took his till, and 
they took his cash-box, and they drinked his wine, and 
they partook of his wittles, and they slapped his face, and 
they pulled his nose, and they tied him up to his becl- 
pust, and they giv' him a dozen, and they stuffed his 
mouth full of flowering annuals to prevent his crying out. 
Bu:: he knowed old Oriick, and Oriick w^as transported. 

Pip. Did you ever hear Joe, who my patron was ? 

Joe. I heerd, as it were not Miss Havisham, old chap. 

Pip. Did you hear who it was, Joe ? 

Joe. Well, I neerd as it were a person what sent the 
person what giv ? you the bank notes at the Jolly Barge- 
men, Pip. 

Pip. So it was. 

Joe. Astonishing ! 

Pip. Did your hear that he was dead, Joe ? 

Joe. I think, as I did hear that how he were some- 
thing or another in a general way in that direction. 

Pip. Did you hear anything of his circumstances ? 

Joe. I did hear as how his being a poor convict, his 
possessions were fortified to the crown. 

Pip. If you would like to hear, Joe. 

Joe. Looker here, old chap, ever the best of friends, 
ain't up Pip ? Wery good, then ; that's all right ; then 
Avlrpgointo subjects, old chap, w T hich as betwixt two sech 



54 

must be forever onnecessar y ? There's subject enough 
betwixt two sech, without onnecessary ones. Lord ! To 
think of your poor sister and her Rampages ! And don't 
you remember Tickler ? 

Pip, I do indeed, Joe. 

Joe. Looker here, old chap, I done what I could do, 
keep you and Tickler in sunders, but my power were not 
always fully equal to my inclination. Supposing ever 
you kep any little matter to yourself, when yoa w T as a 
little child, you kep it mosdy because you know'd as J. 
G-argery's power to part you and Tickler in sunders were 
not fully equal to his inclinations. Tnerefore, (doth rise) 
think no more of it as betwixt two sech, and do not iec 
us pass remarks upon onnecessary subjects. JBut Biday 
will be so glad to see you, and I must not let it come too 
sudden on her like. There has been larks, and now that 
you come home again, there'll be more larks. Biddy will 
expect you this evening. 

Pip. Thank you, dear Joe, I'll be there. 

Joe. Ever the best of friends. (Exit e.) 

Pip. Poor dear old Joe, he has not changed a bit — 
Ah, who have we here. 

Enter Pumblechook and William Potkins with supper 
things on tray. 

Pumb. And I'll find him here, William ? 

William. Yes sir. 

Pumb. (Advancing c and extending his hand to Pip 
with a magnanimous and forgiving air.) Young man, 
I am sorry to see you bronght low. But what else could 
be expected ! What else could be expected! Take a saat, 
William, put a muffin on table. (Exit Wm.) And has it 
come to this ! Has it come to this ! ( They sit down to break 
fast. Wm. has returned with tea and muffin. Pumblechook 
pours out tea for Pip.) William, (mo urn fully) put the salt 
on. In happier times, I think you took sugar ? Aud did 
you take milk? You did. Sugar and miik. William, 
bring a water-cress. 

Pip Thank you, but I don't eat water cresses. 

Pumb. You don't eat 'em, (sighing and nodding his 
head) true. The simple fruits of the earth. No. You 
needn't bring any, William. (Pip eats, and Pumb. con- 
tinues to stand, staring of him and breathing noisely.) 
Little more than skin and bones ! (musingly) And yet 



L>~) 

when he went away from here — I may say with my bles- 
sing — and 1 spread afore him my humble store, like the 
Bee, he was us plump as a Peach ! Hah ! {Massing the 
bread and butter) And ^,ir you a oing to Joseph '( {hand 
on tea-pot.) 

.Pip. In heaven's name, what does it matter to you 
where i am going? Leave that tea-put alone ! 

Pumb. Yes, young man. {ueleases tea-pot, retires a 
step or tioo from the table* and speaks for the behoof of 
William) I will leave that tea-pot alone. You are right. 
young man. For once, you are right I forgit myself 
when 1 take such an interest in your breakfast as to wish 
your frame, — exhausted by the debilitating effects of 
prodigygality — to be stimulated by the 'olesome nou- 
rishment of your forefathers. And yet {turning to Wm. 
and pointing to Pip at arms length) this is him as 1 ever 
sported with in his d ,ys of happy infancy ! Tell me not it 
can not be ; 1 tell you this is him ! 

William. {Affected, and nodding his head) Too bad ! 
too bad ! 

Pumb This is him, as I have rode in my shar-cart. 
This is him, *.s 1 have seen brought up by hand. This is 
him untoe the sister of which I was uncle by marriage, 
as Her name was Georgiana M'ria from her own mother, 
let him deny it if he c n. 

Wm. He does not deny it. 

Pumb. Young man {screwing his head at Pip) you 
air agoing to Joseph. What does it matter to me. you 
ask me, where you are going 1 I say to you, sir, you air 
agoing to Joseph. 

Wm. Let him get over that, if he can. 

Pumb. Now, here is Squires of "the Boar," present 
in the next room, and who hears all I say, and who is re- 
spected in this town ; and here is William, which his 
fathers name Wc s Potkins if I do not deceive myself. 

Wm. You do not, sir. 

Pumb. In their presence, I will tell you young man, 
what to say to Joseph. Says you, Joseph, I have this 
day seen my earliest benefactor and the founder of my 
fortune. I will name no names, Joseph, but so thpy are 
pleased to call him up town, and I have seen that man. 

Pip. I swear I don't see him he**e. 

Pumb. Say that likewise, say you said that, and even 
Joseph will probably betray surprise. 

Pp. There you quite mistake him, I know better. 



56 

Pumb. Says you, Joseph, I have seen that man, and 
thJt ^aan bears you no malice. He knows your character, 
Joseph, and he knows my want of gratitoode. Yes, Jo- 
seph, saAS you, {shakes his head and hand at Pip) he 
knows my total deficiency r f common human gratitoode. 
lie knows it, Joseph, as none can. You do not know it, 
Joseph, having no call to know it, but that man do. Says 
you, Joseph, he gave me a little message, which I will 
now repeat. It was, that in my being brought low. he 
saw the finger of Providence. He knowed that finger 
when he saw it, Joseph, and he saw it plain. It pinted 
out this writing, Joseph. Reward of ingratitoode to 
earliest benefactor, and founder of fortuns. But that 
man said he did not repent of what he had done, Joseph. 
Not at all. It was right to do it, it was kind to do it, it 
was benevolent to do it, and he would do it again. 

Pip. (Scornfully) It is a pity, that the man did not 
say what he had done and would do again. 

Pumb. Squires of the Boar, (peaking off) and Wil- 
liam ! I have no objections to your mentioning, either up- 
town or down-town, if such should be your wishes, that it 
was right to do it, kind to do it, benevolent to do it, and 
that 1 would do it agajji. [Shakes hands with William, 
who sympathizingly follows him. Taking off tea things. 
Exeunt l.) 

Pumb. [Outside'] It was kind to do it, benevolent 
to do it, and I will do it again. 

Pip. The windy old donkey, believes I am as poor as 
when I left England. I can afford to forgive the old hy- 
pocrit, considering that fortune has been more lenient with 
me than he imagines. Now for dear old Joe and Biddy, 
[Exit l.[ 

SCENE II. — Gargery J s Kitchen. Joe discovered seated 

at the fire smoking his pipe. Pip Gargery seated on 

Pips stool 'writing on <* slate. Pip opens the door 

softly and looks in. and advances to the fireplace 

after a pause. 

Pip. Why, dear old Joe, you have me here as I used 
to be. [Takes stool alongside of young P//>.] 

Joe. Yes, dear old chap, we give him the name of 
Tip for your sake, and we hoped he might grow a ltttle 
bit like you, and we think he do and just like you, he's 
growing to be a great scholar. What bave you been a 
writing of now. ; Takes the slatt and examines it,~\ 



D7 

Young Pip. Nothing much, Joe. 

Joe. You see he calls me Joe, as you always have. 
Why, here's a J. and a O. equal to any tliink ! Here's a J 
and a O, Pip, and a J— O, Joe. 

Pip. Ah, but read the rest, Joe. 

Joe. The rest, eh, Pip ? One — two — three. Why, 
here's three J's, and three O's, and three J — 0, Joes, in 
it, Pip ! 

Pip. How do you spell Gargery, Joe ? 

Joe. I don't spell it at all. 

Pip. But supposing you did % 

Joe. It can't be supposed ; tho' I'm oncommon fond 
of reading too. 

Pip Are you, Joe % 

Joe. On-common. Give me, a good book, or a good 
newspaper, and sit me down afore a fire, and I ask no 
better. Lord ! {rubbing his knees) when you do come 
to a J and a O, and says you, here, at last, is a J-0, Joe, 
how interesting reading is. 

Y. Pip. Joe, here comes mother. 

Enter Biddy k. 

Pip. (Advancing and embracing) Dear, dear Biddy, 
how smart you are, and how little time has changed you. 

Biddy. Yes, dear Pip, it is eleven years to day, since 
we were married, and you wished us all happiness. 

Pip. And richly you have deserved it, because you 
are both so good and true, and I heartily congratulate 
you on having a son who will grow up a better man than 
his namesake. But, Biddy, you must give Pip to me, 
some of these days ; or lend him, at all events. 

Biddy. No, no. You must marry. 

Pip. So Herbert and Clara say, but I don't think I 
shall, Biddy. I have so settled down in their home, that 
it's not at all likely. I am already quite an old bachelor. 

Biddy. Dear Pip, you are sure you don't fret for her ? 

Pip. Oh no, — I think not, Biddy. 

Biddy. Tell me as an old frieud. Have you quite 
forgotten her ? 

Pip. My dear Biddy, I have forgotten nothing in my 
life that ever had a foremost place there, and little that 
ever had any place there. But that poor dream, as I 
once used to call it, has all gone by, Biddy, all gone by ! 

Biddy. What do you £10 w of her, since the dream 
was dispelled ? 



58 

Pip. I have heard of her as leading a most unhappy 
life ; as being separated from her husband, who had used 
her with great cruelty, and who had become quite re- 
nowned as a compound of pride, avarice, brutality and 
meanness. I have also heard of the death of her hus- 
band from an accident, consequent on his ill-treatment 
of a horse. This release occurred some two years ago, 
and for any thing I know, she has married again. 

Biddy. Dear Pip, by a happy chance, I met an old 
friend of ours this afternoon, and knowing that you were 
to be here this evening, I prevailed on my friend to ac- 
company me home and unite with us in extending you a 
welcome. I'll return in a moment. ( Goes to right and 
returns vrith Estella.) 

Pip. Estella ! {Advances as if to embrace her, but 
checks himself.) 

Estella. Pip ! I am greatly changed. I wonder you 
know me. 

Pip. (Hands her to a seat at table. Biddy retires 
up and joins Joe.) ■ After so many years, it is strange 
that we should this meet again, Estella, so near where 
our first meeting was. Do you often come back ? 

Est. I have never been here since. 

Pip. Nor I, until to day I strolled over the place, an A 
found no house, no brewery, no building wiiatever left, 
but the wall of the old garden. 

Est. I have very often hoped and intended to come 
back, but have been prevented by many circumstances. 
Poor, poor old place. Did you wonder, how it came to 
be left in the condition you found it ! 

Pip. Yes, Estella. 

Est. The ground belongs to me. It is the only pos- 
session I have not relinquished. Everything else has 
gone from me, little by little ; but I have kept that. It 
was the subject of the only determined resistence I made 
in all the wretched years. 

Pip. Is it to be built on ? 

Est. At last it is. I came here to take leave of it be 
fore its change. And you, you live abroad still ? 

Pip. Still. 

Est. And do well, I am sure ! 

Pip. I work pretty hard for a sufficient living, and 
therefore Yes, I do well. 

Est. I have often thought of you. 

Pip. Have you ? 



59 

Est. Of late, very often. There was a long hard time 
when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had 
thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth. But 
since my duty has not been incompatible with the admis- 
sion of that remembrance, I have given it a place in my 
heart. 

Pip. You have always held your place in my heart. 
(Pause.) 

Est. I little thought I should take leave of you in tak- 
ing leave of the old spot. I am very glad to do so. 

Pip. Glad to part again, Estella ? To me, parting is 
a painful thing. To me, the remembrance of our last 
parting has been ever mournful and painful. 

Est. But you said to me, God bless you, God forgive 
you ! And if you could say that to me then, you will not 
hesitate to say that to me now — now, when suffering 
has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught 
me to understand what your heart used to be. I have 
been bent and broken, but — - 1 hope — into a better shape. 
Be as considerate and good to me as you were, and tell 
me we are friends. 

Pip. (jdsing and bending over her, and assisting 
her to rise) We are friends. (Takes her hand) 

Est. And will continue friends. 

Pip. And will continue friends until death parts us. 

Biddy and Joe advances. 

Biddy. And so dear Pip, I done well in bringing old 
iriends together on this wedding aniversary I 

Pip. Ah, dear Biddy, you have done more than well, 
you have enabled me to realize greater expectations, than 
I ever anticipated. 

Joe. Ever the best of friends ain't us, old chap ? And 
now that there's no Ticklers and rarapaging in and out, 
ichat larks. (They appear to congratulate.) 

CURTAIN. 



>>^; 



SCENE II, ACT I.-THE MARSHES. 

This Scene to follow Scene 3, Act 1, in case Scenes 1st 

and 2nd are cut, and it is impracticable to change to 

Scene 1st, Act 2nd. 

Enter Sergeant with torch ^ d ^*J!^ C ™. 

peyson, Joe with Pip on his back, e. The convicts icept 

apart by a separate guard. , . - 

Sergt. Halt! We'll give them a signal. {Goes to l. 

and waves his torch.) , I wish 

Pip (Who has alighted from Joe s back) i wisn 

they could get away. {Aside to Joe.) 

Joe. I'd give a shilling if they could cut and run fip. 

(A Se% t0J 2l right, (turning to Magwitch) You are ex 
pected on Wd the hulk! they know you are coming. 
TinnH strao-ffle, men, but keep closed up. 

ti£ of Magwitch, who pretends not to <"%»»»£ 

Maa I wish to say something respecting this escape. 
It my present some persons laying under suspicion 

al °K m You can say what you like, but you have no 

ii 1 „.„ itw You'll have opportunity enough to 

5 *3« She Jatant it, m£ it's done with, yon 

Too. I know, tat this b another pint, a Mpante 
matte?. A man ean't starve. I took some wittle. 

K- SSTllyt where from. From the Mack- 
smith's, (ioo&s «< Pip knowingly.) 
Sergt. Halloo! {staring at Joe.) 

%. W5JKS3&- that's what it 

^r^eTonVSneotS'eSan artieie a. 

^^""L Joe, did, a, the very moment 
when yon came in. Don't yon know, Pip 

jtfcM So, then I'm sorry to say that it woe me that stole 
anSyonr'pork pie, nobody else did d, it wo. me. 

7iw Lord knows you're welcome to it — so iar ab ii 
wos ever mTne We don't know what you have done, but 
wouldn't Ce you starved to death for it, poor miserable 

fel £;rSe, K d go S on P The boat is waiting for us 
at the landing. March! {Exeunt l.) 










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